The Song of the Native
by OmniHelix
Summary: Rachel starts over in New York
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This is my attempt at filling in the years between Rachel going back to school and winning her Tony. I've been known pretty much as a Finchel writer, and I want to assure you that Finn's memory will be honored better here than on the show. But Jesse's story needs to be told too, and I hope to do him justice as well. It may be long; I hope you enjoy the journey. I don't own any of the Glee characters. The original characters are mine.**_

Even her people-watching had changed. When Rachel had been in New York before, she always imagined passersby as potential attendees at her shows, wondering what they would think of the performance, and how they would react as she emerged from the stage door afterwards. Santana once said Rachel looked at her life as one big personal performance, and in a sense she had been right: there was a reason she had been attracted to a television show named after her; she had been attracted like a helpless moth before a flame. But now, after all she had been through the last year, she was grateful for not having been consumed by that flame. She was grateful to have come out just badly burned, and for Carmen Thibideaux's inexplicable generosity in giving her another chance.

Sitting outside, having coffee at a Manhattan café, Rachel now wondered what personal journeys the people streaming past had experienced, what dreams they harbored, and what loved ones they had lost. She thought about Finn, and her parents' divorce, and the string of disastrous decisions that led to her being here. Their weight made her feel so much older than her nineteen years. The fact was, she had flamed out, spectacularly so, and when school started up in a few weeks, Rachel would have to deal with the fallout. But as she sipped her coffee on that fine July morning, she felt certain she was on the right path.

She had moved back to New York in July, without fanfare. Her parents, perhaps in a fit of guilt over the divorce, found her a half-way decent one bedroom apartment in a nice part of the lower East Side of Manhattan, near the Williamsburg Bridge. It was a short bus ride or subway hop to the NYADA campus, about a half-mile south of NYU. She had needed, more than anything, to live alone, not to hide from the world, but to have a place where she could return to at night to process her new life, free of distraction.

"Rachel!" She looked up. A tall, willowy woman with beautifully long wavy red hair, in a white floral dress sat down at her table.

"Hi Marge," Rachel said, with an honest smile. Marge Bailey had been the first friend she ever made in New York, back when she had arrived heartbroken and scared on that train.

"I'm so glad you called me, hun. It's been a long time." She was in her mid-fifties, a Tisch-trained stage actress who had left the business ten years ago when her husband died to work at a diner near the NYADA campus. Rachel showed up there early one morning, unable to sleep, and the two women became friends. Rachel liked to think she had convinced Marge to go back to the stage.

"I know." Rachel looked down, into her cup. "I was ashamed. I'm sorry." Marge had counseled her not to leave _Funny Girl_. They hadn't seen each other since. She felt Marge's hand on her arm.

"Hey—Look at me." Marge's deep-set green eyes regarded her kindly. " I didn't show up here to sit in judgement, okay? I respect you too much, you must know that."

"Even after my boneheaded choice?"

Marge laughed and paused to order hot tea with milk and sugar. "So you made a bone-headed choice. What's important is that you recovered from it and made an excellent decision to correct it." Marge took her hand. "Nigel would have been so proud of what you're doing. So am I." Her husband had been a noted theatre professor at NYU.

"Well, I'm sure I'll be a good source of _schadenfreude_ when I show up in class next month." Cesare and Bernard, her two ex-sycophants, would have some choice things to say, especially now that they were seniors.

"I'd say they will be more envious—how many of them are talented enough to get a second chance from Carmen Thibideaux?"

"Third chance, actually," Rachel said, and Marge chuckled.

" _Damn_ , girl."

Rachel gave her a sheepish look. "I'm determined to keep as low a profile as I can. "

"Even when you could impart some hard-won wisdom? "

"I doubt anybody wants to hear me give career advice. I'm more a cautionary tale, if anything." She looked down again. "Like a ship that's run aground, serving as a warning to others. " Marge started to protest, but Rachel cut her off. "I just don't see myself as an inspiration to others, Marge. At least not yet. I need to be my own inspiration first." Marge nodded, as the waiter brought Marge's tea and a coffee refill for Rachel.

" What are your classes looking like?"

"Pretty good. I know something about all of the professors except one. For dance."

"It's not with Cassandra July?" Marge apparently remembered Rachel's stories about her.

"No. It seems Cassandra is taking a sabbatical in London, on a play. " She giggled. "Rumor has it Brody Weston was in the same play, in the chorus, but I know for a fact he's waiting tables here in New York right now." She and her dads saw him when they had dinner in Manhattan after she moved in. Both were embarrassed and didn't speak, but did smile and wave shyly at each other. "The instructor is an adjunct named Emily Lauder. Ever hear of her?"

Marge shrugged. "I'm not plugged into the musical side of things."

They talked shop for a few minutes. Marge was currently playing the female lead in a play, a revival of _That Hamilton Woman_ , that had just jumped from off-Broadway to Broadway, and was growing in popularity.

"I'm coming to see it," Rachel said, "With Kurt and Blaine. They got married you know, and they live together in the old loft. Blaine got into Tisch!"

"Well, good for them," Marge said, smiling. "What about Santana?"

"Oh my God. You and I really haven't spoken in a while. She got married to Brittany in a double ring ceremony with Kurt and Blaine. Britany was offered a prestigious fellowship to remain at MIT, so they are living in Cambridge."

Marge called the waiter over.

"I need some tea cakes," she told Rachel. "And you'll help me eat them."

"Sure."

They chatted about showbiz gossip for a few minutes. It felt good to be speaking with Marge again. It was just hard to get used to not seeing her in that shabby old waitress uniform she used to wear, but Rachel also was overjoyed to see Marge finally free herself from her grief over Nigel and return to the stage. She dressed well, and carried herself differently—it was very apparent why Nigel had fallen in love with her. Rachel wondered if she had started dating again, and asked. Marge actually blushed.

"I've been doing that, off-and-on, for a few years. You know that."

"I mean successful dating," Rachel said, laughing, "Not the disasters you told me about."

Marge gave her a small smile. "I met someone in April, actually. An NYU professor, who just moved here from North Carolina. His name is Peter Hill, and he's an historian."

Rachel clapped her hands. "Oh my God, that's wonderful. And he's an academic, just like Nigel was."

"Yeah—it helped that I was already familiar with NYU's academic life. I went with him to a faculty party before the end of the semester, and you know what?" Tears appeared in her soulful eyes. "Some people remembered me and Nigel from the day, and came over and welcomed me like long-lost family."

"Is he a theater fan?"

"Not particularly, so the relationship is different enough from what I had with Nigel to make it fresh and special. But I'm working on his education." She winked. "How about you?"

Rachel knew she could trust talking to her about her heart. If anyone knew what she had gone through with Finn, it was Marge Bailey.

"I miss Finn every day, and I pray for his soul every night, and I think I'll do that for the rest of my life," she said. Marge nodded.

"Out in LA, I was so wrapped up in the show that I had neither time nor energy for dating. It wasn't until I went back to Lima that the loneliness really set in."

She hadn't told anyone—except Finn, in her prayers—about that.

"I thought getting involved with the Glee Club again would keep me occupied, but…" Her voice trailed off, and a warm smile came over her face. She rummaged through her bag for her wallet. "You never met Sam Evans when he was here, did you?" Marge shook her head. Rachel showed her Sam's picture.

"Lord have mercy," Marge muttered. "Is he as nice as he looks?"

"More," Rachel said. "He's sweet, and kind, and safe, you know? And he wasn't interested in a long term relationship, especially if I was going to be in New York. He was Finn's friend, too. Sam made sure to never dishonor Finn's memory."

"Did you sleep with him?" Marge arched her eyebrow playfully.

"No. But we came very close. A couple of times, in fact. But he was in unrequited love with somebody else. We were content to just be friends. I'm glad we did."

"Anyone else?"

Rachel furrowed her brow. How could she describe what was going on with Jesse? She wasn't even sure herself, and he had been so crazy busy getting ready for the show that they had only texted a few times. He did invite her to dinner with the cast one night, but she didn't feel ready being with Broadway professionals again.

"I've been talking again with Jesse St James," she said. "He's the male lead in the show I turned down."

" _The Urban Prophet_?" Marge asked. Rachel nodded. "There's a lot of buzz about that, and not all of it good."

"I know." Jesse had mentioned complaints about Jesse's casting over another, more experienced actor. Of course, the complaints were emanating from the actors press people. "They say Jesse has no 'street cred', too." She laughed.

"Are you planning on pursuing something with him? " Marge knew about their history.

"Maybe," Rachel said. "I think I'm ready to move forward, but anyone who ever gets involved with me will have to understand how I feel about Finn. I swear, Marge, I think I loved him comparably to the way you loved Nigel, and I'm still suffering from the loss. Anyone getting involved with me needs to know that, and, frankly, Jesse and I haven't even had that conversation yet."

Marge nodded.

"You have always admired his talent, Rachel."

"Yeah, I know, but something he said back in Lima recently grabbed my imagination."

Marge leaned forward, intrigued. "What was that?"

"He said we always made great music _together_." She paused, lost in memory. "And he's right. I've never felt as comfortable singing with anyone else besides Finn—and that scares me, to be honest. When I was at my lowest after Finn died, I thought I'd never find anyone with whom I could have such a musical connection." She looked down at her hands. "There's more. Back in high school, Jesse was as single-mindedly ambitious as I was. He was like a male me. I'm not sure I'm looking for my male equivalent, you know?"

Marge laughed. "Maybe he's changed, Rachel. After all, he did say you made great music together."

"I know. That's why I'm intrigued." She sighed and ate some cake. "But that can wait. I have school to think about first."

They talked for another hour. Rachel mentioned her parents' divorce—Hiram had moved to Cleveland, while LeRoy lived in a small rented house in Lima near his law practice. Touchingly, both of them said they would retire in New York, to be near her. She secretly wished the two of them would realize they had made a mistake, and reconcile in New York, where they could continue being the little, resolute family she had always known. But she wasn't holding her breath. 

"Oh, _hun,_ " Marge said. "You need to catch a break."

Rachel gave a short laugh. "I could use some good news."

Marge and Rachel made plans to have dinner after one of her shows.

"We'll go to Sardis," Marge promised. Rachel liked that, glad to have Marge in her life again.

Walking back to her apartment, Rachel felt her hope and confidence returning. Starting again at NYADA would mean swallowing her pride, but that didn't scare her at all. She had lost her Finn, and felt she had failed him. Her pride came in a distant second to that. Starting over was as much for him as it was for her, and for a moment she wished she could visit his grave like she did so many times in Lima, to ask his advice. But then she remembered, and her heart warmed.

His star would be out tonight, and the weather was fair.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: I appreciate the differing points of view expressed in the reviews.**_

Kurt had offered to have coffee with Rachel before her first day of classes, but she told him she was more than fine. She made herself a latte in her apartment and savored the flavor, looking at the leather backpack sitting on the table next to her. Carole had bought it for Finn when he started college, and offered it to Rachel when she heard she was going back. She loved how it even smelled like him. She decided to dress much like she had before—a close-fitting shirt and short skirt, but with flats for the bus. Her heels were in the small dance bag she had used for _Funny Girl_. Her hair was different, however- the bangs and straight blunt cut were gone, replaced by the longer, wavier locks she had preferred more recently in Lima. The old cut was a bitter reminder of Los Angeles, even though her inner drama queen wanted to wear it for exactly that reason, a kind of hair shirt driving her to succeed.

On the bus a couple of young men gave her appreciative glances, and, while the attention wasn't exactly unwelcome, it brought on memories of Finn. But at least she could recall Finn now with fondness.

"I'm grieving now, not grief-stricken," she told Kurt once. She smiled in her seat, a polite acknowledgment of the appreciation from the young men, but without encouraging anything more. They seemed to understand, too, turning it into an unexpectedly graceful, civilized moment. She left them with that serene smile as she got off at the NYADA stop.

Rachel didn't pause to take a breath, or stare up at the building, like some prodigal daughter. She simply walked in the door, as if she had never left. Her first class was acting, on the second floor, and she melted into the stream of students headed up the stairs. Nobody seemed to notice her, and she didn't see anyone she recognized at first. At the top of the stairs her phone buzzed. It was a text from Carmen Tibideaux's administrative assistant, the smug bitch that took such pleasure humiliating her in the hall the last time she was here.

She was to report to Tibideaux's office. Now.

But first things first. She went to her classroom and told the instructor who she was, and why she wouldn't be in class. Then she hurried downstairs.

Carmen Tibideaux pretended to be writing and didn't look up when Rachel was ushered into her office by the smirking admin. Rachel stood before her, saying nothing, with little expression, inwardly unimpressed by such a transparently theatrical gesture. She had expected this kind of treatment, imagining that Tibideaux was going to extract her pound of flesh somehow. But no matter. She was in, and hadn't even attended a class yet, so Carmen wouldn't be chewing her out. She probably wanted to remind Rachel just how lucky she was. Or something.

"Ms Berry, sit down," she said, head still down over her papers. Rachel was laying her backpack down by her dance bag when Carmen stopped writing and looked up. Her look was haughty, imperious.

"You will be evaluated more severely than any of the other students in this school, do you understand?"

Of course. That stood to reason. Flame-out or not, Rachel had far more professional experience under her belt than any of the others. It was as if she was a graduate student, rather than a lowly undergrad.

"I understand, Madame Tibideaux." Her tone was coolly deferential. She was done groveling.

Carmen opened a file on her desk, and pulled out a letter—Rachel recognized it as the one she sent thanking Tibideaux for readmitting her.

"Good." Then her demeanor softened. "That's what the Board of Directors wanted me to remind you." Rachel gave her a small, shy smile, wondering what the hell was going on. "You do realize the big Broadway producers have a lot of clout with the Board, right?"

Rachel winced, thinking of Sydney Greene. She shook her head.

"Well, they do. And they were less than pleased at finding out I was readmitting you." She sighed. "They didn't even want to hear my reasons, but, fortunately, the Board respects my judgment—most of the time."

Rachel sat on the edge of her chair, hands clasped around her knees. It was a defensive posture. There was a time when she would have wished Finn, or Kurt, or her dads were there with her. But now she felt empowered to handle what was thrown her way. She thanked Sam and Jesse for having understood just how much she needed to do all of this on her own.

"May I ask what your reasons were, Madame Tibideaux?"

Carmen didn't seem to hear her.

"When this academy was founded in 1936, its overriding purpose was to train and nurture young artists." She paused. "I used to wonder just what 'nurturing' an artist meant. It seemed to me, when I came here twenty years ago, that it meant providing such a rigorous, competitive environment that it turned out performers tough enough to deal with the world of the arts. I thought it meant I had to be hard, because that world was hard. And The Board was happy to go along with that, as long as we fed them graduates who could make them money, and our endowment came to be dependent on the producers of the shows." She looked as if she had just tasted something bitter. Then she waved Rachel's letter. "You showed me just how wrong I was."

"I—I did?" Rachel gulped.

'Yes, you did." Carmen looked down at the letter. "I've called myself an educator all of this time, but I've never considered myself much of a mentor." She looked up at Rachel. "You needed a mentor. I prided myself on recognizing what a talent you have. I even understood how you had to go for the part of Fanny Brice. But we—I- failed you."

Rachel sat silently, fascinated.

"You were leading a major Broadway show at the age of eighteen. We could have been more flexible and worked out a schedule that was less demanding. You had just lost a loved one. It wouldn't have killed me to have been more compassionate."

Rachel wasn't prepared for what Carmen said next.

"And we gave you no choice but to leave, which left you at the mercy of that moron Lee Paulblatt. We were aware of how he betrayed your male lead in _Funny Girl_ , you know. We could have warned you, but by that time you had no reason to trust us for any kind of advice."

"I'm not sure you could have talked me out of the TV show, Madame Tibideaux." Rachel had to admit that.

"I watched the show." Carmen actually smiled. Rachel blushed deeply, embarrassed beyond measure. "I remember wondering why you weren't given any songs—the show was supposed to be based on your life, wasn't it?"

Rachel nodded, miserably.

"They cut all of them out," she said.

"Paulblatt is a Philistine. And he left you shouldering almost all of the blame. He already has a job with Fox, did you know that? He risked nothing, and almost ruined you in the process."

"Almost?" Rachel let out a bitter laugh.

"You're here, aren't you?"

"Do you think Sydney Greene cares if I'm at NYADA or not?" She couldn't get the image of him threatening her in his office out of her mind. It haunted her nightmares, even if he did begrudgingly take Paulblatt's check to get her out of her contract.

"He was one of the first people on the phone after the Board approved my decision to let you back." Carmen snorted. "He said he was trying to warn me about you."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him he could have done a better job preventing parasites like Paulblatt from poaching his talent."

"What?" Rachel was shocked. Carmen shrugged.

"He knew you weren't represented well. And Paulblatt is known for sniffing around Broadway stars' dressing rooms. Sydney knew you were only eighteen and vulnerable. And he had a star in his pocket he knew could take your place." That would have been the veteran Talia Gillerman. Who didn't get a Tony for playing Fanny, Rachel reminded herself.

"He's a tough old bird," Carmen said. "When you graduate, he won't let hurt feelings get in the way of making money, if you prove good for a part in anything he produces."

Rachel sighed in relief.

"However, that doesn't mean you should be auditioning for him anytime in the near future. In fact," Carmen regained her imperious tone, "I will not sign off on any outside auditions by you while you're a student here."

"Of course not, Madame Tibideaux, I understand." Rachel paused, then asked, her voice soft and hopeful, "Will I be eligible for consideration for showcases?"

"That's the right of every NYADA student, Ms. Berry. Now get to class."

And as she turned to leave, her heart leaped with hope when Carmen said, "Make me proud of my decision."

She felt all of her fellow student's eyes on her when she returned to the classroom. The professor's name was Roy Jenkins, an actual Tony winner when he was younger. He looked at his roll sheet again.

"We had introductions while you were in with Madame Tibideaux." He smiled, and Rachel winced inside, as he said, "Class, this is Rachel Berry, a returning sophomore . There were a lot of nods; most recognized the name. She had won a Winter showcase as a freshman, after all. One boy snickered, getting a withering look of disapproval from Jenkins. "Everyone was asked to tell the class what kind of experience they had. Please give us a brief summary." He didn't appear to be deliberately cruel, just determined to treat her like anyone else.

Rachel gave them a small smile.

"I'm Rachel Berry, from Lima, Ohio. When I was in high school I played the role of Maria in a production of _West Side Story._ Our show choir, the New Directions, won the National title my senior year. I was Fanny Brice in the Broadway production of _Funny Girl..."_ That caused a buzz and some additional snickers,but she didn't care, and actually grinned, "...but I left the show early and went to Hollywood, where I managed to star in the worst television series in history." Some good-natured laughs now. Rachel bet most of the kids here feared the kind of failure she had actually experienced. "So if you want some advice on what kinds of decisions _not_ to make, I'm your girl."

After class, Jenkins asked her to remain behind.

"That took some guts," he said. Rachel shrugged.

"I knew I was in for some embarrassment. But believe me, that's nothing compared to the shock of getting fired like that, realizing you have burned all your bridges, then having to grovel for a second chance." She sighed. "I don't plan on throwing that chance away, and if it means getting my past decisions rubbed in my face for a while, so be it."

Jenkins nodded. "Come by my office this afternoon, so we can discuss how you will be evaluated. I'll give you my expectations, and what it will take on your part to meet them." He paused for a second, looking down. " There are some faculty who think you never deserved readmission." Rachel nodded, grimly. "I'm not one of them. But we as a whole are committed to helping you succeed, regardless."

She dropped her dance bag off in her locker for use in the afternoon dance class, and headed to the student lounge for the hour before her singing lesson. The unexpectedly positive experiences this morning hadn't quite defused her defensive mode, and she needed a comfortable chair and a cup of coffee to relax. Reaching into the backpack for her thermos, she caught a brief whiff of Finn's scent, and closed her eyes to enjoy it.

" _I like to sit here and drink a cup of coffee before my next class," she said. Finn sat next to her and looked around._

" _They actually have a latte machine here?" He wrinkled his nose. She knew he had tried coffee in the army and hated it._

" _Of course. They even have Cool Ranch Doritos in the vending machines, just for you," she joked, and loved how the smile grew on his face. She knew he felt overwhelmed, and ashamed, and she wanted so much for them to be together again. Surely Carmen could see how talented Finn was, and let him in to NYADA. She had to._

" _Can you see us, Finn, dancing and singing together again?" She pressed her head into his shoulder, attempting to instill self-confidence in him through her indomitable will._

" _I'm trying," he said. But she could feel him slipping away from her, even then._

Her eyes opened. She was alone. Part of her wanted to go home and lie down. She felt like Sisyphus at the bottom of the mountain again, and the thought of having to roll the boulder up that slope yet one more time without him, filled her with the old familiar fatigue of despair which she thought she had left behind.

She whispered a fervent prayer, wishing he could come back to her, if only for a moment, to let her know she still had meaning in a post-Finn world.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: I have been following the discussion in the reviews, and sympathize with those who cannot see Rachel ending up with Jesse. My little story is going to try and come up with a reasonable explanation for how that happened, which will not dishonor Finns memory nor Rachel's character.**_

 _ **As always, thoughtful, respectful reviews (pro and con) are welcome.**_

Kurt met her for lunch at a small cafe near campus. It had excellent salads with lots of protein, perfect for fueling a dance class later in the afternoon.

"I wish you were in the class with me," she said. "I'm going to be pretty rusty."

"Oh come on, Rachel," Kurt snorted. "I know for a fact you sneaked out for dance lessons in Lima. And you're more flexible now than you've ever been." Thanks to yoga, something to which Rachel had become devoted, in Los Angeles.

She looked at her schedule. The class number was Dance 250, not Dance 201 that she had expected. And she didn't recognize the room.

"Do you remember this dance rehearsal room, Kurt? 410?" The usual dance classes were held on the third floor. Kurt looked puzzled.

"I don't know it," he said.

"What about the instructor, Emily Lauder?"

"Doesn't ring a bell, either."

"I looked her up. She's a choreographer, with an off-Broadway show under her belt. Bachelor's and Master's degree in dance from the Aaron Copeland School of Music at Queens College. I guess NYADA hired her as an adjunct."

"Then she must be good. Oh, by the way, I checked- Second Year Dance is being taught by somebody different. A visiting professor from Bennington on a fellowship, not an adjunct."

Hmmm. _That_ was interesting. Why wasn't she enrolled in that?

"Well then, I guess I find out at three." She dug into her salad.

"How did the singing lesson go?"

"Fantastic!" Rachel smiled. "I still have Martha Lavery- I swear I owed her my part in _Funny Girl_."

Kurt smiled behind his hand.

They talked about his classes, and Rachel joked that he was her older brother now, being a junior. His life had become very stable with Blaine—they seemed to have gotten past their issues, and with Blaine at Tisch, they could grow as a couple without smothering each other. This came as a great relief to Rachel.

"I'm so glad you are happy with Blaine," Rachel said. "You deserved an end to all that drama."

"We still miss you, though," Kurt said. "We could have made it work living together."

Rachel shook her head. "I'm happy where I am. I feel like I'm set to rebuild my career, and having my own place gives me a space to focus my thoughts on the task at hand. And it gives you and Blaine the space you need as well."

"You aren't lonely?" Kurt looked concerned.

"I'm alone there, but not lonely," she replied. "I have my friends when I need them. And I'm here if you need me." She touched his hand and smiled.

"Remember that conversation we had back in Lima, about you getting a chance to enjoy being young and a student again?"

"Of course." She knew what was coming.

"You've said you're ready to have a love life again. We just don't see any movement yet. Blaine is concerned."

Rachel chuckled to herself. Yeah, Kurt, blame it on Blaine.

"I'm in no rush. I had fun with Sam—he helped open me up. It was so nice being with a man again, one I who trusted, you know? "

Kurt waited before saying what was on his mind, and Rachel knew what it was.

"Do you think you can trust Jesse—assuming you are interested?"

"We haven't even gone out, Kurt," she laughed. "He's got bigger things on his mind than me right now." His opening night was in two weeks, and she had texted him about getting a front row ticket. Jesse had replied that he had already taken care of it, which made her smile.

"That's not what I asked." Kurt smiled in a way she knew meant he was not going to drop this.

"I'm going to protect my heart, Kurt. Don't worry. "

"Okay. Just checking."

They paid the check. She took his arm as they started back to NYADA.

"I had a sad Finn moment before lunch," she admitted. " I feel I am the steward of his memory. That means anything I do, in my career and my love life, has to honor him. Is that unreasonable? How much does 'til death do us part' apply to me? Sometimes it feels like such a burden, and other times a liberating force. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing."

The lunch crowd on the sidewalk blissfully swirled around them, caught up in its own losses and triumphs and other concerns. Kurt sighed.

"I'm not going to tell you what to feel," he said, "and I'm certainly not going to judge. But I think Finn's death took away your anchor, leaving you rootless and vulnerable to making poor decisions." He stopped and stood in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. "But you've come back from that, and proven your love for him by starting over, and never giving up your dreams. I know he would have asked for nothing more than that, other than to keep him in your memory."

"And I will," Rachel whispered, tears brimming."Forever."

"I know he hated Jesse," said Kurt. "For mostly good reasons." She laughed through the tears. "But I don't think he would hold a grudge against anyone that truly made you happy."

"I think so, too." Rachel smiled.

At two o'clock Rachel stopped in to Professor Jenkins's office, and they talked over his expectations of her.

"Much of the basic technical issues, which the rest will be learning and practicing for the first time, will be old hat for you. I expect you to be a source of experience. If I'm discussing something in class that I think you should be able to demonstrate, I will ask you to do so." Rachel nodded. "I also expect you to contribute more in discussion, and also act as a mentor for the others if need be." He paused, then smiled. "I don't want them to view you as a cautionary tale, but as a veteran whose experience they can tap." He added, "And don't worry—I 'll push you with challenging material."

She asked if there was anything challenging she could start looking at while the class was going over some basics. He laughed, and pulled a bound version of Ibsen's _Hedda Gabler_ from the shelf.

"Hedda Gabler is no Fanny Brice, Rachel. She will push you further than you've ever been."

She could live with that.

A text was waiting on her phone when she left Jenkins' office. It was from Jesse, asking how her first day was going. She found a seat in the lounge and replied:

 _ **Very well. Now get back to work, you.**_

She laughed at his reply:

 _ **Yes, ma'am.**_

The day before he had tried asking her again about having dinner with him and the cast. She told him the same thing, that she wasn't quite ready to hang out with Broadway professionals yet. But after today's experience, Rachel was open to reconsidering. Or so she thought.

"Ah...so the rumors _were_ true." She looked up. It was Cesare and Bernard, still inseparable, still dressed in pastels like matching sticks of sidewalk chalk.

"What rumors?" she asked mildly. "That you two might actually graduate?"

"Oooh, _burn_." Cesare said, in a perfect imitation of Emma Stone in _Easy A_. Bernard rolled his eyes. "More like the fact NYADA was letting in washed up failures now."

Rachel felt like she was channeling Santana.

"I'm afraid so. Which kind of makes your degrees worthless now, right?"

"Even a NYADA degree's not going to help _you,_ " Cesare hissed.

Rachel stood up, getting ready to go to class.

"Have fun in the chorus," she said, waving.

The encounter left her feeling empowered. There was no fucking way Rachel Berry was ever going to be a has-been. And as she continued on to change for dance class, she reflexively fist-bumped Finn on the way.

Room 410 was more a private dance practice salon than a classroom. It had a mirror and barre on one wall, and no instruments—just a CD player, iPod dock, and some speakers.

There was only one person in the room: a young woman, not much older than Rachel, sitting cross-legged on a mat, reading a book. She was blonde, her long straight hair up in a high ponytail, with a lithe dancer's body, in an unusual, pale blue, yellow and red tie-dyed leotard. As Rachel entered, she looked up. Pale-blue eyes and delicate features.

"You must be Rachel Berry," she said, rising up from the floor in one fluid motion, revealing her height, perhaps five-eight, almost all legs.

"Yes," Rachel answered, puzzled.

"I'm Emily Lauder. Welcome to Dance 250."

Rachel looked around. "Where are the other students?"

Emily closed the door.

"There aren't any."

"What?"

"Carmen told me she wanted concentrated attention on you this year, so that you don't have any deficiencies going into 3rd Year Dance. She also said your parents offered to pay extra for this."

"So you can meet the rent on your loft in Soho?"

Emily laughed. " I wish. I live in Ridgewood, and can barely afford that. I have a regular teaching gig at Queens College, which means I have to haul ass across the river to get here on time."

She started stretching, and Rachel followed suit. Emily was so flexible she seemed to have no bones.

"You're a choreographer, right?" They had hands raised over their heads, bending torsos at the waist.

"I've done choreography, yeah. On an off-Broadway show my boyfriend wrote."

"Your boyfriend's a composer?" Rachel loved that idea, of lovers being artistic partners. She had hoped that for her and Finn.

"He's a graduate of the NYADA composer program, actually. Maybe you know of him—Tom Foley?"

The name sounded familiar, but Rachel shook her head.

"He graduated four years ago, so I'm not surprised. The show closed last year, after six months. It was called _Requital_. "

Even when in Los Angeles, Rachel read the Broadway trades, so the show was familiar to her. It received decent reviews, but was deemed way too dark to be viable on Broadway. Its themes of Old Testament retribution, in Romania just before the First World War, spooked most of the critics, even as they praised the complex but melodic score by the composer Tom Foley, an unknown up to that point.

"I remember reading about it," Rachel said, "I recognize his name now."

"They liked the choreography," Emily said, dreamily. "And I loved doing it." Then she looked at Rachel. "I want you to look at a video of the moves I want you to focus on. Carmen says these are your weak points. We're gonna find ways for you to get through them, and you'll be a much better dancer for it when I'm done with you."

She was sore afterwards, but thought this class was actually going to step her dancing up. Emily was patient but firm, and Rachel enjoyed talking about their lives. Emily had a sweet, serene relationship with Tom, who played piano at a bar at night, and composed during the day. She said he was almost done with a new show, based partially on his parents, who had met working for Doctors Without Borders in Cambodia when the Khmer Rouge were taking over.

"It's not as dark as _Requital_ , " Emily said. "And it has sweep and grandeur."

On the bus ride home Rachel found herself sitting next to one of the young men who had paid attention to her that morning. He was slight of build, with long sandy hair and round- rim glasses. They politely nodded to each other. Rachel pulled out _Hedda Gabler;_ the young man was reading a book _._ He looked over at her, curiously and they both, almost simultaneously, showed the other what they were reading. His book was Somerset Maugham's _The Razor's Edge_. He nodded.

" _Hedda Gabler's_ pretty dark."

"I don't know much about it," Rachel confessed. "I'm reading it for an acting class at NYADA." Then she gave him an embarrassed sigh. "And I haven't heard of your book, either."

"Its a classic," he said, then extended his hand. "Richard. I'm a grad student in English at NYU." She shook it.

"I'm Rachel. Aren't you a bit far south for an NYU student?"

"Well, my girlfriend already had an apartment on the Lower East Side when we met last year. It was cheaper to live together there."

They talked about books until it was time for her stop. Rachel had enjoyed the no-pressure, civilized interaction, and the satisfaction of learning something not directly related to the dramatic arts. As she walked the block to her apartment, something Kurt had said back in Lima struck her- she was getting to enjoy being just a student again. And the conversation with Richard, in which she had never heard of any of the books he mentioned, made her want to make sure that part of her education would be opening up herself to more than the dramatic arts. He had told her _The Razor's Edge_ was about the spiritual journey of a World War One veteran.

As Rachel made herself dinner, she became more intrigued by the story. After all, wasn't she on a strange, intense journey herself? A journey of struggle, loss and despair, triumph and tragedy, and- hopefully—validation and redemption? Maybe embracing good literature could teach her more about her own pilgrim's progress? She ordered the book online.

After dinner she settled on the couch with a glass of wine, in her pajamas, and started reading _Hedda Gabler._ The living room was quiet—even the street noise seemed to have died down for once- a Lima-like quiet. Her lamp gave the only light. After about ten pages of productive reading, where she tried absorbing as much information about Hedda, who hadn't yet appeared, Rachel's mind turned to the dance class. Perhaps the residual soreness in her muscles distracted her, or how Emily made everything seem absurdly easy, her killer dancer's body flowing seamlessly from one position to another. Or maybe it was her artistic partnership with Tom that produced the disquiet. Rachel had so wanted that for her and Finn. Despite his crippling doubts about himself, she had always held out the hope that she could have convinced him to come to her in New York, where they could conquer the world together, singing and dancing. And loving.

As she finished her wine, Rachel wondered if her fate was to have to make her dreams come true alone, even though she knew, from sweet memory and experience, that she had been at her very best when she had someone with which to share the passion. She wondered if she was fated to end up with only the applause.

And she wondered if, when he had talked about letting the universe do its thing, that he had any inkling of how cruelly indifferent it could be.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: thoughtful reviews are are always welcome.**

Rachel went to see Marge's play a few weeks later, on a Friday. Her performance as Emma Hamilton, the scandalous mistress of the British naval hero Lord Nelson, was a revelation. She and her male lead, Hugh Patterner, convincingly portrayed the fiery chemistry between them that had captured the imagination of an entire nation.

"Nelson was like a 19th Century rock star," Marge said afterwards at Sardi's. Kurt and Blaine could only stay briefly backstage after the show, so Rachel and Marge went on to dinner together. "He was this vain, temperamental naval genius who had lost an eye and an arm in battle. But the people realized the Royal Navy was the only thing that prevented Napoleon from being the first man to conquer Britain in almost 800 years, and loved Nelson, despite his open, scandalous affair with Emma. She was also married and flamboyant in her own right." Marge sipped her wine, looking elegant in a fitted white shirt, jeans and heels. Her red hair flowed down around her shoulders.

"We loved the show," Rachel said. "The audience did, too." She watched Marge almost inhale the small, perfectly-grilled steak and salad (which actually wasn't on the official late-supper menu, but Marge charmed the owner into making it for her). "It's funny—I used to crave beef after the second show on Sundays."

"Performing is hard work." Marge sipped more wine. "So how's school?"

"It's good to be back. For the most part, they're treating me well. I have my own personal dance instructor. We have a specific set of weaknesses to work on. I'm exhausted at the end of every day, but it's that good kind of exhaustion. I'm invigorated rather than worn out."

"Excellent."

"And my acting professor is Roy Jenkins!" Marge raised her eyebrow, impressed. "He gave me _Hedda Gabler_ as my first assignment."

Marge froze for a moment, then broke out in a serene smile. "I was playing Hedda Gabler when I met Nigel for the first time," she said. "He loved 19th Century theater, Ibsen especially, and when he read the good reviews I was getting—better than the play itself, actually- came to a performance and asked if he could come backstage and meet me."

"What a sweet memory," Rachel said, and smiled too, but Marge looked concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"It's nothing…" Rachel started to say, but stopped. "Sorry, I just had a Finn moment."

Marge smiled in sympathy.

"These feelings come and go." Then she laughed without humor. "As if you didn't know about that…"

"I was forty-three when I lost Nigel, after being married to him for twelve." Marge's voice was soft and kind. "And he had cancer, so when the end came it wasn't the kind of shock you must have gone through. But it did take its toll on me, as you know, and it may take a long time for you to fully recover, too." She patted Rachel's arm. "You will recover, I promise."

Rachel bit her lip, trying to hold back tears. "I sure hope so. This sucks. I feel as if I've lost some ground, now that I'm in New York again, without Sam."

"That's just the loneliness. I understand why you chose to live alone, and the fact your friends are married now probably puts some distance between you as well, which only reinforces the isolation. And if I know anything about NYADA, it's not the place to develop close friendships."

Rachel snorted. "I'll say."

"So what about your friend, Jesse? Have you seen him lately?"

"We talk on the phone. His opening night is next week. I've been staying away so as not to distract him. And he's invited me to dinner with the cast a couple of times, but he understands why I'm reluctant to hang out with them." She smiled. "He jokes about me trying to avoid him. But he knows that isn't true.'" A small sigh.

Marge smiled over her wine glass.

"Your relationship with him has always seemed…complicated." Rachel had told Marge only the general story before.

Rachel nodded.

"Finn hated him. I did too, for a while. But he told me that treating me the way he did was his greatest regret. He said he had traded love for a fourth consecutive national championship, and that it was a bum deal."

"What about a first?" Marge raised her eyebrows and Rachel stared at her, then laughed.

"That was a different matter, yep. To be honest, Marge, I wanted that national championship so badly I might have felt the same way, if I had to face that choice." She looked and felt ashamed then. "I even told Finn as much in the library after we lost. I said our kiss was worth it only because I knew we had another shot at nationals." Tears. "But not Finn. He said it was worth it because he loved me and would have given anything— _anything_ , Marge—to kiss me one more time." She swallowed hard. "How could I ever deserve a love as pure as that?"

"Love isn't like trust, Rachel. It's not something you earn." Marge was looking at her now with almost infinite compassion. "Our men loved us, and we loved them. End of discussion." She took Rachel's hands. "And here's another thing, hun: you have more than honored Finn's memory by carrying on with your life. When Nigel died, the first thing I wanted to do was join him. But then I realized, the dead don't ask much of us- just remembrance. They don't judge. It's the living who take on the burden of thinking they have to honor that memory. You didn't dishonor Finn by making those career missteps. Making mistakes is part of being alive, and only in being alive can you remember the dead, which is all they truly want." Her deep-set green eyes shone. "We won't forget them, ever. But if we owe Finn and Nigel anything, it is to live out the rest of our lives as best we can. And that includes finding love again. In _this_ world."

Rachel sighed, her eyes closed.

"Thanks," she said when she opened them. "I know he wants me to go to the after party. I've decided to surprise him and actually go. After the last few weeks of school, I know I can deal with it. And it's his first Broadway opening. I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't go and help him celebrate."

Marge's nod came with an amused look. "You sound so experienced and wise."

"I wish I felt like it."

Rachel had lunch with Jesse on the Saturday before his Tuesday opening. She knew he'd get a little time to breathe here and there for a couple of days before (as she had for her opening). If the show wasn't ready by now, it would never be.

They ate outdoors, in perfect weather, at a hamburger joint near NYU that she had discovered with Brody. She had the delicious, meatless, Portobello Mushroom burger and he ordered a lamb gyro. They shared a basket of fries.

He looked very different from when she had last seen him last, in Lima. His hair had been buzzed for the role, and he looked lean and chiseled.

"You look tired," she said.

"I am." His blue eyes looked drained, weary. "This was a great idea, thanks. I needed to get out for some fresh air."

He sipped black coffee, she noticed. At least that hadn't changed. He used to make little jokes about her soy lattes when they had been together. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had shared a meal since high school. In fact, she thought, they really hardly knew each other at all, at least in an open, non-dramatic way. They never had the opportunity to explore a relationship of any depth since her sophomore year in high school. She felt like she was on a blind lunch date, despite their obvious history.

She studied him. The buzz cut and the training couldn't erase the boyishness from his face. He looked better with his curls, she decided. And he had lost that calculating, cold look behind his eyes, which always made her feel he was hiding something. She wondered if anything had happened to him after his Vocal Adrenaline lost Nationals to New Directions. They really hadn't talked about him much; it had always been about her.

"What, Rachel?" His voice snapped her out it. He looked amused. "I feel like I'm being observed by some scientist in a lab."

"I'm just curious," she replied. "What happened to you after Nationals? I mean, one minute you were the coach of Vocal Adrenaline, and then, over two years later, you show up in Lima, with the lead in a major Broadway production." She sipped her iced tea, and gave him a smile. "There has to be a good story in there, somewhere."

"If I tell you, will you come to the after party?"

"It's a deal." Rachel grinned. It was fine to let him think he had convinced her to go. And she was touched by his pleasure at her answer.

"It's not a very glamorous story," Jesse said.

She shrugged. "Come on, St James. Out with it!"

He had been fired as the coach of Vocal Adrenaline thirty minutes after the loss in Chicago.

"The principal did it via text."

"I heard that rumor, but I didn't believe it." She shook her head. "How awful."

"I did get to keep my Range Rover, however." He laughed.

"Is it here? In New York?" Her dad kept her car at his place in Lima.

"No—it's in Lima with my mom. But now that I'm making real money, I may try and find a garage for it here." He sat up, excited. "Would you be willing to drive it back to New York after Thanksgiving? I'll probably have to perform through the holiday."

"Sure," she said. "No problem." Blaine and Kurt could drive with her.

"Great, thanks!"

Rachel watched him try and run his hands through his almost-nonexistent hair, which she knew was a nervous gesture. She imagined telling her what happened after that was painful.

"I moped around Lima for a while, trying to figure out what to do. But then I heard from my old roommate at UCLA. He had transferred to Berkeley and told me he overheard a girl in one of his classes talking about some musical theater openings in San Francisco. Plus he needed a roommate to share his apartment."

"So that's why that letter you sent me after Finn died had a Berkeley postmark."

The letter had been generous and kind, a simple expression of condolences, free of any self-absorption. It was a side of him she hadn't expected, but appreciated far more than the simple words. He nodded.

"Almost all of the jobs had dried up by the time I packed and drove out there, but I did manage to get an intern-pay-level position as an assistant to a director."

"'Intern-level' pay? You mean no pay, right?" She didn't say it in a mean way, and his adorably sheepish look told her he hadn't taken offence.

"Let's just say I was grateful for my barista gig at a Berkeley coffee emporium." Then he smiled. "I'd like you to let me make the best soy latte you've ever had someday."

"I'm holding you to that." She took a fry and waved it at him to continue.

"I did learn a thing or two about directing. I also made extra cash on weekends singing for family birthdays and stuff." He laughed at her shocked expression.

"Oh yeah, but here's the thing: that gig got me this."

She sat back. "What?"

One Monday he was told to show up at a house in the tony Rockridge neighborhood of Oakland the following Saturday.

"The agency said some rich guy in the music business was throwing a birthday party for his sixteen-year-old daughter, and she wanted to hear her favorite song."

"What was that?"

Jesse leaned forward. "Are you ready for this? She wanted me to sing 'Ice Ice Baby'."

Rachel giggled. "No way."

"Way. All I could think of was Will Schuester singing it in Glee club, remember?"

She nodded, still giggling despite the memory of her "Run, Joey, Run" debacle from around that time.

"So I had a week to try and learn to sing hip-hop-if you can call that shit song hip hop—convincingly."

In her mind's eyes she could see him choking on the lyrics.

"It could have been worse," she said, with a twinkle in her eye. "It could have been funk."

He rolled his eyes and groaned. But then he gave her a look of admiration.

"You have become so…charmingly formidable."

She sipped her tea and regarded him with an even gaze.

"I'm not the girl I used to be." She meant it more as a warning, that she wasn't that silly stardom-obsessed drama queen she once was. If that's what he was looking for in her, well, he would be out of luck.

Jesse, to his credit, met her gaze directly. "I can see that," he said. She saw nothing but respect in his expression.

"Finish the story."

"Well, by the time I showed up on Saturday, I was able to spit those lyrics out like a machine gun. I even had the dance moves down." He stood up and showed her some, snapping into them with ease, and she clapped her hands in delight, as did some other female customers. "The girl and her friends loved it, which was a relief, let me tell you. Her dad came up afterwards to pay me, and gave me a wad of cash, far more than was customary, and when I started to protest, pulled out a business card and wrote a number on the back." Jesse reached into his wallet, pulled out the card, and handed it to her. "He said he had a friend who was producing a musical for Broadway about a Philly street artist with PTSD from Iraq who finds his salvation in hip-hop."

"So his friend was... " Rachel was amazed.

"Russel Simmons? Yeah. When I got him on the phone he said his friend had already called to recommend me for an audition. So I asked my mom for some money to fly to New York." Jesse shook his head in wonder. "And the rest, as they say, is history." He leaned forward.

"I'm so honored you're going to be there Tuesday night." He seemed genuinely grateful. Scared shitless, too, she thought.

"The honor is mine," Rachel said. "I can't wait."


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel sat at her vanity for one last look before heading out to the theater. The dress was short, but not scandalously so; a deep-blue brushed silk. Her evening makeup was appropriate for a night in Manhattan, and her hair was lustrously long and flowing.

But she wasn't focused on that. Instead, Rachel was letting the reflection take her back to her own opening night, and the mixture of satisfaction, excitement, and terror she felt. She wondered what the mixture was for Jesse, who she imagined was sitting at another mirror. The flowers she sent would be there by now, along with the handwritten card:

 _ **A really great talent finds its happiness in execution.**_

 _ **~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe**_

 _ **Now go out there and get happy.**_

 _ **Rachel**_

She had almost written "Break a leg", but that phrase was still so charged with emotion for her that she couldn't bring herself to do it. The pain reflected in her face was disheartening. The quiet in the apartment emphasized the ache she still felt at the thought of him, and she longed for a time when she would remember Finn with only fondness and joy. She also longed for when she could tell Jesse to break a leg, because, despite what she knew now about what his initial motivations were, their mutual respect for each other's talent had always been real. She had seen that respect from the moment they sang that song in the music store.

It was time to go, and, as she waited to hail a cab, Rachel felt the old familiar excitement of going to the theater. Her melancholy eased. There was nothing quite like experiencing live music, onstage or in the audience, and she thanked her dads for nurturing such a love for it.

"The Shubert Theater," she told the driver, as a smile began to grow on her face and she settled in the seat.

There was quite a crowd outside. Stepping out of the cab and adjusting her dress, Rachel felt a momentary stab when nobody seemed to notice her, but then enjoyed the anonymity. This was Jesse's night, not hers. The eyes of the ticket taker did register momentary recognition, but Rachel brushed past quickly and managed to make it to her seat in the front row of the packed theater without being noticed. She sat next to a well-dressed, middle-aged couple. They were excited to be at their first Broadway show. They lived in Chicago, and were in town visiting their daughter.

"We never expected to get front row seats," the woman said, 'We got them through American Express during the presale." She looked at Rachel. "How did you get yours?"

"The old-fashioned way," she said with a grin. "I'm friends with one of the cast. I knew Jesse St James from high school in Ohio."

The couple nodded.

"Are you an actress?" the man asked.

Six months ago, Rachel would have given them a different answer. However, as she had told Jesse, she wasn't that girl anymore.

"I'm studying to be one, here at NYADA."

The man looked impressed.

"You must be good; I hear that school's almost impossible to get into."

" _Almost,_ " Rachel said. They all laughed.

"Well, congratulations! We're sure we'll be seeing you up there, someday." The woman regarded her kindly.

"Thank you. I sure hope so."

She glanced down the row, and recognized Jesse's parents, six seats down. She had only met them once, in high school, and wondered if they would remember her. His mother was wearing an elegant black dress, while her husband was in a snappy black tux. Rachel caught his mother's eye, and the woman immediately smiled in recognition, waving, and telling her husband, who did likewise. Surprised but pleased at having been remembered, she settled back in her seat as the curtain went up.

She would not have been Rachel Berry if she didn't have some notes for Jesse on his performance. Her sessions with Emily had shown her how to smooth out her dancing, and she noticed some moments where Jesse could have been more even in his transitions. Presumably these would become less frequent as the show progressed, so she decided not to bring them up, if asked. And there were a few occasions where the rapid-fire rapping tripped Jesse up. But these were few and far between. Overall, in Rachel's professional opinion, Jesse nailed his performance.

It was inevitable, she supposed, that seeing Jesse in his element would be, while still exciting, also bring on a complicated poignancy. She seemed fated to be entangled with men who loved the arts. Jesse, of course, was so much like her in that regard, and her deep friendship with Kurt was partially based on how much he loved, and had always loved, the same things she did. Finn had been the odd man out, not fully realizing his love for music until the Glee club. And her. Seeing him blossom as he did, right before her very eyes, and how much he loved her for helping him see it, gave what they had such sweetness, making the possibility that she might never feel that way again exquisitely painful. Was it selfish to want to feel that way with somebody once more? . Part of her considered that a betrayal, while another (and she desperately wanted that to be Finn himself ) whispered that she was the one left alive, and deserved to live that life without guilt. The problem with Jesse was just how entangled he was with her past. She had forgiven Jesse long ago; but she hadn't forgotten. And she wondered if she knew Finn well enough to know if he could ever have forgiven Jesse. It's not as if Finn wasn't a forgiving soul. Had he not forgiven her, and Puck, and even Quinn? If only he could give her some sign.

She sighed, inwardly.

Towards the end of the show, Tino professes his love for Segovia Shade, while at the same time hoping she could accept his past. Jesse, who had recognized Rachel there in the front row, looked her directly in the eye when singing the song. At that moment he seemed to let his permanent guard down, and she could see his regret for how he had treated her laid bare. Or she thought so, anyway. He seemed so vulnerable. Could Finn have wanted her to see this plea for understanding? She closed her eyes, almost unwilling to accept it, but when she opened them again, decided, right then and there, to take that as her sign. He winked at her during the curtain call, to excellent applause (but nothing like the rapturous reception she had received for _Funny Girl_ ). She already wanted to make music with him; perhaps there could be more.

Backstage, Rachel waited for his parents and other well-wishers to thin out before attempting to enter Jesse's dressing room. She wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible; however, it didn't take long before she was recognized by some of the cognoscenti. They didn't even try and approach, but instead hung back, whispering and casting glances her way. One oblivious actor tried hitting on her; she told him she was a NYADA student and a friend of Jesse's from high school, which was enough to get him to back off. Eventually, Jesse poked his head out the door and beckoned to her.

"Berry! Stop dilly-dallying and come on in!"

Her steps were tentative. It felt as if she were walking into a lion's den. Inside were Jesse's co-star, Tamara Jones, who had also given an excellent performance, and a co-producer, Jamal Gilliam, drinking champagne. She recognized Jamal from her audition. They looked up and for a moment Rachel felt they were coldly assessing her. The feeling soon passed, however, because they smiled and beckoned her to join them. Tamara poured her a glass.

"This is Rachel Berry," Jesse said, his arm around her shoulder.

"Oh, I know who you are," Tamara said. Rachel loved her speaking voice, low and earthy. She was tall, with beautiful dark hair and complexion. If she had any resentment knowing that she had been second choice for the role, Tamara didn't show it. Rachel took the glass. "So you're friends with Jesse?"

"Yes, from high school," she said, taking a sip.

"You went to high school together?" Jamal seemed intrigued.

"Briefly," Jesse chimed in. "Mainly we were deadly crosstown show choir rivals." He surprised her with a look of admiration. "Rachel led her show choir to the National championship." Then he laughed. "And cost me my job."

"I didn't do it alone," Rachel said. He immediately looked apologetic.

"No, no..." He paused, seemingly lost in memory. "That New Directions was a maddening ball of talent." Then he smiled and looked at the others. "I knew my job was doomed when Rachel and her co-captain, Finn Hudson brought the house down with the closing number. "Paradise By the Dashboard Light", if you can believe it. They were magical on stage together. Bigger than life."

"Well, enough about me," Rachel said, raising her glass. "Here's to your opening! I loved the show!" The three of them looked pleased and relieved at the same time.

They spent time discussing technical aspects of the production, and when Rachel realized all three of them were honestly interested in her opinion, gave them her notes. She was surprised at Jesse's reaction- they had rarely ever been in the position where she was critiquing a performance of his- yet he seemed to take it graciously enough.

"You've been there," he said proudly at one point. Eventually it was time to go to the after party, which was being held at the Plaza Hotel. Russel Simmons had gone straight there after the show to get ready for the press.

"So you're coming?" Jesse asked, but Rachel was sure he knew she was.

"Of course," she said, then made him laugh by taking an egg from her purse and putting it in the trash. "Didn't need it after all."

Jesse took her to the party in his town car. He was surprised at first when she told him about giving up her car, but then just nodded.

"Someday," he said, "I'm going to get you to accept the perks that your talent deserves."

He was relaxed and excited at the same time, looking dashing in a black suit and open-necked white shirt. She relaxed with him, glad for his success. She was Rachel Berry, after all, to whom it was all about the art. And Jesse had definitely made some art that night. Yet, she saw occasional flashes of humility, honest surprise at the success. It made her wonder how he would handle huge success; hopefully better than she did.

There was honest thoughtfulness too: as the car pulled up outside the Plaza, with the crowds of fans and paparazzi, he took her hand and read her mind:

"If you feel you need to slip in alone, anonymously, I understand, Rachel." Then he genuinely moved her: "But I could sure use a veteran to hang onto out there."

The flashes and the crowd were intimidating reminders of her failures, but the last thing she wanted was for her past to detract from his night.

"Then let's do this," she said, with an honest smile. Jesse opened her door instead of the driver, and she took his arm.

Her senses were assaulted all at once: the smell of the city; the flashing lights; the calling of names. Jesse's name was being called, and he smiled for the photographers like a professional. And when one asked him who he was with, he gave the man a withering look, and made her heart soar when he said, "You don't know who she is? Seriously?" He didn't volunteer her name, so as not to give them a chance to ridicule her past, for which she was grateful, but that didn't prevent her from being recognized.

"Hey! That's Rachel Berry!" said one female photographer. Rachel wanted to cringe, waiting for a negative response. There was a murmur in the crowd. The woman surprised her with an unexpectedly generous question: "Ms. Berry, rumor has it you were offered the role of Segovia Shade, but turned it down. Are you up for any other roles here in New York?"

She gave the question a graceful deflection:

"I'm an old friend of Jesse's, and I'm here solely to celebrate his wonderful performance," she said, smiling. And even though the photographer nodded in understanding, Jesse added,

"Ms. Berry was indeed offered the role of Segovia Shade, but it interfered with her long-term plans of continuing her education at NYADA. She's already given me her notes on the performance," he grinned, "so you can thank her now for any improvements you see tomorrow night." Laughter. Smiles.

And then they were inside, and made their way to the party. Rachel breathed easier. They looked at each other fondly. The room was packed.

"Well, that was easy, right?" Jesse asked. He looked happy and assured, as people began to approach them.

"Thanks to you," Rachel said, and stood by as the congratulations came in. She offered to go get them champagne at the bar.

I grew easier the longer she was there: Rachel felt less and less defensive, determined to smile her way out of any awkward encounters, and top be honest about her past. She was about to order the champagnes when she heard a man;s voice:

"Well, well, well. Look who's here." Fuck. Sydney Greene. Clamping down on her emotions, Rachel turned slowly around.

"Hello, Sydney." Pleasant tone, with no unnecessary deference. He'd been paid for her contract, remember. And he lost the fight with Carmen. If he was going to try and rub anything in, she would absorb anything that was reasonable. But if he crossed the line...

She gave her order.

"I didn't expect to see you here, on a school night, no less." The snarkiness was not lost on her.

"I didn't expect to see you here, either," she replied evenly. "Jesse St James and I are friends from high school." She took her champagne and watched him order a scotch. "What's your excuse?"

He seemed taken aback by her self-confidence.

"I'd never have pegged you as a hip-hop kind of guy," she continued. He actually gave her a sheepish grin at that.

"My wife is friends with Russell Simmons."

Rachel looked across the room, and saw Elaine happily talking with Simmons.

"Maybe both of us are fish out of water, here."

"Maybe." He looked at her curiously. "May I ask you a question?" She looked over at Jesse, who looked concerned, and gave him a reassuring smile.

"Sure."

"Why did you come back?"

"Was I supposed to stay away?" She looked Sydney straight in the eyes. "I know you tried blackballing me for NYADA." To his credit, Sydney coolly stared right back.

"I didn't think readmitting you was good for the reputation of the school." Then he shrugged. "Obviously, Carmen Tibideaux thought otherwise."

"Are you trying to say it wasn't personal?"

"What are you talking about? Of course it was personal." Rachel said nothing, letting him continue.

"I know I've made money with _Funny Girl_. But I could have made a hell of a lot more with you instead of Talia." He looked into his drink. "Ever since your audition I thought I had found the next Barbara Streisand." His eyes met hers again. "So yes, it was damned personal." Before Rachel could say anything, he shook his head. "Carmen was right, I guess, about me letting Paulblatt poach my talent. But you know what? It never occurred to me you'd give up Fanny Brice for a fucking sit com."

Rachel touched his arm.

"Sydney, I never thought I would either. But I did, and have regretted it ever since. Jesse told me I belong here. In New York. On Broadway. My poor dead Finn believed it too. That's why I came back, to try and start over. I'm sorry I betrayed your generosity. I know I could have learned a lot from you." Sydney's look softened.

"NYADA will teach you a lot more. Stick with it. Try and learn from your mistakes." He looked across the room at his wife waving for him to join her and gave Rachel an enigmatic look.

" _Mazel tov_ , Rachel," he said, and was gone.

She joined Jesse, who was now talking with his parents. Leanne St James, an elegantky dressed and coiffed blonde, smiled.

"Good to see you again, Rachel." His father shook her hand.

"Everything okay with Sydney?" Jesse asked.

"Oh yes. We had a nice talk." She turned to his parents.

"I hope you're proud of your son," she said, and Jesse put his arm around her.

"Listen,' she told him in a low voice. "I hate to say this, but it's a school night, and I have to get some sleep." He took it in stride, with an exaggerated sad look.

"Okay. But will you have dinner with me after the show on Friday?"

She beamed, and kissed him on the lips, in front of the St James's.

"That sounds lovely. Congratulations. I'm very proud of you."

As she got out of the cab in front of her building, Rachel felt less adrift, and back in charge of her future. She could still feel his lips on hers and felt no guilt. And she'd faced down Sydney Greene from a position of strength.

On the sidewalk she looked up, hoping to get a glimpse of Finn's star, but it had already set. Still, she smiled all the way to her door.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I hope you are continuing to enjoy the unfolding story. As always, reviews are welcome.**

Rachel rose very early the next morning to procure the New York Times and a couple of other papers. She sat and read the reviews over her breakfast. Reviews for the show were mostly positive, and all of them did find something good to say about Jesse's and Tamara's performances. She texted Jesse:

 _ **They like you, they really like you :)**_

The review in _The Village Voice_ , however, did bring up an issue that made her uneasy:

 _ **Despite the dazzling performances, especially Jesse St James's crisp delivery of the raps, there was always present the nagging specter of a trivialization of hip-hop culture. At times Urban Prophet sounds more like a modern take on The Who's rock opera "Tommy" than a serious examination of the redemptive power of music, which its ad campaign has consistently asserted.**_

Jesse texted her back later that day when she was in class:

 _ **What do they mean by "trivialization of hip hop culture"? Are they accusing the show of cultural appropriation? Do they think I'm Broadway's version of Vanilla Ice?**_

She read the text in the student lounge while eating her lunch, not surprised he focused only on the negative. Her _Funny Girl_ performance had received a couple of less-than-stellar reviews, and those were the only ones she still remembered by heart.

 _ **C'mon, bub- don't forget all the great reviews.**_

She chuckled over his reply:

 _ **You're right, of course. Thanks for pulling me back from the ledge. Do I have to wait until Friday to see you again? (He asked, with a come-hither look)**_

Could she buy him lunch tomorrow? He liked that:

 _ **Pick you up at 11.**_

Rachel found herself looking forward to seeing him—she wanted to know how his second night went, and was he feeling more comfortable? She remembered how her second night had felt like more of a challenge than the first, because she wanted to not only replicate the previous night's performance, but to improve upon it in some way. And since Jesse was so much like her, Rachel knew that was exactly what he would strive to do. The thought gave her a warm feeling, and for the first time in a long time, she didn't regard his similarities to her own personality as a negative.

After dinner she settled on the couch to memorize a scene from _Hedda Gabler_ for the next day, but not before sending Jesse an inspirational text:

 _ **Love art in yourself, and not yourself in art.― Konstantin Stanislavski**_ __

Jenkins had written this on the blackboard before class that day, as they began to discuss Stanislavski's 'system' of thoroughly analyzing a character's motivations and inner life so as to develop a realistic portrayal of that character on stage. Rachel was caught off-guard when Jenkins asked if he could use her portrayal of Fanny Brice as an example around which to build the discussion.

"But I didn't use a 'system'," she protested.

"Okay," Jenkins replied, "But that performance drew remarkable praise from critics, right?"

"If you discount the one critic that called it 'Mini-Me does Streisand', I guess so." She actually grinned, drawing laughs, but good-natured ones, from her fellow students. They had come to respect her public willingness to accept her past.

"Then let's start with how _you_ approached the character. What was going through your mind when you started preparing for the role?"

"Well, that's the thing- I had wanted to play Fanny Brice since I was five years old. I had been preparing for the role since I was a child. How does that make my performance relevant to what we are discussing now?"

The class was intensely interested now. So far, most of the flow of learning in the class had been one-sided. And now, in Rachel, they had a chance to see another source of information.

"I'm not trying to be argumentative..." Rachel said, even though Jenkins did not appear upset. "I just need to understand."

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, and nodded. Looking out over the class, he said,

"That's what I want to to happen. I want you all to strive for understanding." then he slapped chalk dust off his hands and looked at Rachel.

"I read your original application essay. In it you described how seeing _Funny Girl_ when you were five changed your life."

Rachel wasn't embarrassed. She nodded.

"However, you wrote mainly about how you admired Streisand, both as a singer and actress. The character of Fanny Brice seemed secondary to me. Yet, most critics praised your performance, not as an _homage_ to Streisand, but for your original take on the character. In addition," he started pacing the front of the room, emphasizing the point with a chop of his hand, "they said, almost to a man, you had reached inside and found far more emotional depth in Fanny than Streisand did. That tells me you approached Fanny differently than you had when you were younger. I want to explore that process."

"It's not something I thought carefully about, to be honest," she said slowly, careful with her words because the reason was clear now. "I couldn't- my whole life had just been turned upside down." She bit her lip, trying to control her feelings. The students were staring intently. Jenkins looked concerned, but didn't stop her, and she didn't stop herself because art, to her, was always about honesty: "Soon after rehearsals started, my fiancé died."

The room collectively drew a breath, and she wondered if it had been a good thing to mention it. Jenkins stroked his chin, fascinated, encouraging her to continue.

"He wasn't _actually_ my fiancé then, I guess. We weren't officially engaged anymore, and he still lived in Ohio, earning a teaching degree, but both of us knew it was inevitable. I could always draw on that reality when I needed strength." Her voice caught in her throat. "He gave the best advice."

"Did you take some time off?" asked Jenkins.

"No. Just enough time in Ohio to bury him, and then it was back to rehearsals. At first it was a way to keep my mind focused on something else, you know?" Jenkins and a couple of students nodded. "It was a way to avoid the persistent thoughts about wanting to join him." One girl was crying, and another gave her a disturbingly sympathetic look. "Eventually, I found myself wondering if Fanny's love for Nick and her grief at being apart from him were comparable to how I felt about losing Finn. Maybe that came out in my performances, making them seem more authentic, I don't know." Rachel paused, then looked up at Jenkins. "It certainly wasn't a deliberate choice."

"No." The professor agreed. "It sounds more instinctive, on your part."

"What about the television show?" one girl asked. "I saw it. No offense, but I didn't see any depth in your performance at all."

"That's because there wasn't any," Rachel said, drawing some giggles. "For a show ostensibly supposed to be about me and my life, the director and writers went out of their way to make sure I came off as some cute cartoon airhead. What you didn't see were the arguments and the word from above that I was a neophyte, they knew what they were doing, and I was to just sit down, shut up, and trust them."

"I did love the clothes you wore," the girl remarked, and Rachel laughed. "Yeah, they were pretty nice. I got to keep most of them, too, because they had to be specially tailored for my size."

"So it's safe to say you drew on your own emotional experience to enrich your portrayal of a character." Jenkins was smiling.

"Sure."

"But it was instinctual, not really planned beforehand."

"Right."

"Excellent. Let's take your approach as a starting point, then look at how Stanislavski's was different. He said it was possible to bring out the depth in a character more methodically, through a structured approach..."

Inside Jesse's town car, she asked him how he felt.

"You were so right, Rachel." His eyes were bright and clear. "I took some of your notes and everything fell into place better." She raised her eyebrow.

" _Some_ of my suggestions?"

"Artist's prerogative." He grinned and she relaxed as they drove to a restaurant in the Village he said one of the cast members recommended.

Rachel hooted as they pulled up in front of The Monarch.

"I love this place! It's my friend Marge's favorite restaurant!" She pulled him out of the car. "Her picture is on the wall!"

Inside, before being seated, Rachel showed him the wall of actor's pictures. The Monarch catered to off-Broadway actors, and posted pictures of those who had won the Obie Award, off-Broadway's highest honor. Marge's picture was with the 1982 winners. She was Margaret Johnson then, and Jesse gave a low whistle.

"She had that young Kate Hepburn look _down,"_ he said.

They both ordered salads and while enjoying some fresh coffee, talked about the performance.

"It feels so natural already," he said. "Thanks-again-for the notes. It helps to have a professional adviser." He said it in all seriousness, and she was touched by his generosity. Despite her mistakes, he had never doubted her talent or her professional judgment.

"My pleasure. You know it's all about the art with me."

His countenance broke out in an honest, boyish smile. She remembered how that smile brought a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach back then.

"You look happy," she said, sipping her water.

"I am."

The trademark self-confidence returned to his face, but without the old inscrutability. He seemed more open. Rachel was beginning to feel safe with him, something—given their past—she hadn't truly experienced before.

"May I ask you a question?" She now felt secure enough to ask this. It had been bothering her for years.

"Of course."

"When you and Mr Shue held the auditions for the solo at Nationals, what made you choose me over Kurt, Mercedes, and Santana?"

"So you want to know if I let my personal feelings for you influence my decision?" His eyebrows arched playfully. Their salads arrived.

"Yes."

Taking a bite, she closed her eyes in pleasure- the creamy Caesar dressing at The Monarch was delicious. He watched her, amused.

"I chose you because you had the right combination of drive, discipline and talent." He reached out and touched her arm. "And I knew who you were thinking about when you sang the song, despite your disclaimer."

"You did?"

He snorted.

"Of course. I had no illusions. You would have always chosen Finn over me. It was my karma to be in love with a woman who loved someone else." Pain lurked behind his eyes.

"Yet you still chose me for the solo. I mean, what about Mercedes, or Kurt...or Santana for that matter., They all sounded amazing."

He put down his fork.

"Okay. Let's take Santana. She nailed the Amy Winehouse vibe, sure, but it was a mannered performance, and not even technically that well-executed. It was maybe regionals good, but it wasn't Nationals good."

"And Kurt?"

"Rachel, I admire Kurt, but back then he was just coming into his own. He was feeling his way around that song. He knew it, and he knew I knew it."

Hearing him talk like that about her friends made Rachel uncomfortable, not because she disagreed with his assessments, but more because he was making perfectly valid points, in her opinion. She had never been able to openly express that kind of cool judgment in front of the Glee Club without taking a beat down, and eventually had given up to keep the peace.

"As for Mercedes, I meant every word I said." He leaned forward. "Rachel, there is no denying the raw talent that girl possesses. The fact she has been so successful is a testament to that. But in a national show choir competition, raw talent just isn't enough for the solo category. She sounded great, but was emoting all over the place. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed that morning and decided to sing a song." He searched for a word. "She just wasn't as... _polished_ as you were. When you sang that song, anyone could see you struck that balance of drive, discipline and talent I mentioned earlier. It was a professional's kind of performance, not one given by some high school amateur."

After all the months of failure and humiliation, to hear him praise her like that raised her spirits higher than they had been in some time, maybe even before Finn's death.

"Thank you. I-I needed to hear that."

He reached out and took her hands.

"They rarely admitted it, but you were their true star. I often thought you underwent a not-so-subtle kind of bullying in that choir room."

She shook her head.

"It sometimes seemed that way to me at the time, and in some cases it might have been true. But my unfiltered opinions were less important than keeping everyone together." That was true.

"Even if it meant not being good enough to win?"

She smiled broadly, then winked.

"Oh, but we _were_ good enough to win."

He laughed, in good humor.

" _T_ _ouché_ , Berry."

As they left the restaurant she reached for his hand. His validation of her approach to her art bouyed her spirits. And she was beginning to sense she could trust him. It was as if they had just met again: she could admire his perfectionism, talent, self- confidence, and boyish good looks without all the baggage. She knew now that he did, indeed, love her, and even though it had been unrequited, he had not let the heartache get in the way of his admiration for her talent. His grip was strong and assured. In the car she snuggled next to him.

"Thanks for lunch," he said.

"Thanks for joining me. And for your honesty."

And as the car pulled up in front of NYADA, Rachel took a leap of faith and kissed Jesse deeply.

"I could get used to that," he murmured, breathing heavily.

"That's the idea, St. James."


	7. Chapter 7

Rachel walked into her Thursday dance class and found Jesse there, talking with Emily. He was dressed for a workout.

"What's going on?" She placed her dance bag by the wall, glad to see him, but surprised.

"I was restless," he said, "and was having some problems with my moves in one of the dances, so I asked Emily if I could try and work out the issues with you for class credit." He gave her a sassy grin.

"Okay." Rachel sat down on the edge to put on her heels. She looked at Emily. "What do you think?"

"If you're fine with it, it's okay with me." Emily picked a folder out of he bag. "I have to go make some copies without anyone knowing about it. So, Jesse, show us what you're trying to accomplish, and I'll judge how well you succeeded when I get back. Fair enough?"

"Rachel?" Jesse obviously wanted to make sure he had her buy-in. He needn't have worried.

"Sounds like fun." She stood up, giving his sassy grin right back. "So show us these moves that are giving you _sooo_ much trouble."

"It's a quick Argentine tango." He approached Rachel and assumed the expected close embrace, their chests touching, in the Argentine manner. "I'll show you the moves, then we'll try it with the music." She nodded, and waited for his lead. Cassandra's class had taught her well, so she was prepared when Jesse began the walk. Tango was always fun for her because it was almost entirely improvisational, but, because of that, she had to pay very close attention to Jesse's physical cues. Fortunately for her, Jesse was actually very good. He didn't lead by pushing or dragging her with his arms, but instead signaled changes with his torso, and it didn't take her long to learn his feel, and soon they were moving entirely in synch. She threw in a sensuous leg wrap to add a little spice, and he grinned. She was reluctant to stop when Emily signaled them, and noticed his sly wink.

Emily stroked her chin for a second.

"That was actually very good," she said, "But I think I know what's missing." She took a position, and began a walk backward. "Do you see what I'm doing?"

Neither Jesse nor Rachel saw it right away.

"Jesse, do they tell you to brush your feet or ankles as the pass each other during the walk?" He nodded.

"Then why didn't you do it? Don't you see how that gives your walk a more sensuous look, especially as it forces the hips to sway, ever so slightly? " It was Jesse's turn to stroke his chin.

"Yeah, but Malon the choreographer had his hands full and didn't push it. I find it hard to remember to do it for some reason."

"Me too,' said Rachel. "It feels unnatural." Jesse nodded in agreement.

Emily burst out laughing.

"Maybe you need a more demanding choreographer." She rummaged in her bag and handed Jesse her business card. "I'll see you guys after I go sneak some copies."

"Aren't you adjunct faculty, with copying privileges?" Rachel asked.

"Bless your heart," Emily said, winking and left with a manila folder. Jesse took advantage of her exit and pulled Rachel into an embrace and a kiss.

"That's more like it, St James," Rachel murmured. The combination of the dance and now this, was exciting, a quality her life had lacked for some time. That he took the initiative pleased her; she felt desired again. It also wasn't innocent, as it had been with Sam. It felt like the beginnings of a fire, low and full of possibility.

He turned on the music and they began to dance. She tried concentrating on his cues, but without consciously realizing it, began moving in sync with him. She was almost able to anticipate his moves before he executed them. That had never happened with Brody, despite his technical perfection, and it certainly had never happened with Finn. Even at the music's quicker pace, Rachel felt as if she and Jesse were performing with one mind. She didn't think she missed one of his cues, and they smiled, breathing faster as the music continued. At one point Rachel wasn't sure if it was just the pace that quickened her breathing.

"Again," she gasped, when the music stopped.

"Oh, definitely," Jesse panted, grinning. "But I think I have the issues whipped."

"You mean _we_ ," Rachel corrected him, with a sassy look.

This time it was even smoother, and she enjoyed the movement, and the closeness, and the exertion, the _freedom_ , her mind uncluttered by grief, or guilt, or humiliation. All she had to do was follow his cues, and let herself surrender to the simple pleasure of dancing.

Neither of them noticed Emily had returned, watching them from the doorway.

"Much better," she pronounced, after the music stopped. "Both of you." She looked at Jesse. "So to whom do I send my bill?"

Jesse laughed, but took her seriously. "Send it to me. I'm very grateful."

"And how are you going to thank Rachel?"

Rachel started to protest, but Jesse, still smiling gently, put his finger to her lips.

"I know we're going to have dinner after the show Friday, but I'd like to take you dancing afterwards." When Rachel nodded happily, he cocked his head towards Emily. "How's that?"

"You warm the cockles of my dancer's heart. I can even recommend a place—its a bar in Ridgewood where my boyfriend Tom plays piano on weekends called "Black Opium". They have a great house band that performs after him."

"Oh, that sounds like fun!" Rachel clapped. "Jesse, Tom's a Broadway composer!" She looked at Emily. "Will you be there, too?"

"Of course. I'll let him know you guys will be there probably around the end of his set. If you're a little late, you know, signing too many autographs after the show-" she winked at Jesse, "-we'll get a table and watch for you."

In the hallway later, she and Jesse were laughing over a joke he had just told when they almost ran into Carmen.

"Hi Madame Tibideaux," Jesse said. She gave him a cool look.

"Good afternoon, Mr. St James. What brings you here?"

"I was having issues with some dance moves from my show..."

" _Urban Prophet_ , as I recall," Carmen said, nodding.

"Yes—and Emily Lauder agreed that working them out with Rachel Berry as my partner would be good for her class goals as well."

"That's right," Carmen mused, "You and Rachel are friends."

How did she know that?

"Yes, ma'am."

"And did Ms Lauder and Ms Berry prove helpful?"

"Very much so. I'll be applying the lessons to my performance tonight."

"That's good to hear. Good luck with your show. See you here tomorrow, Ms. Berry." And she was gone.

Before they could exit the building, some knowledgeable students recognized Jesse and approached him for autographs. He gave her a careful look before signing, as if not wishing to rub in the fact that nobody was asking for hers, but she smiled back serenely, touched at his concern, but happy for his success. She stepped back to watch. He was gracious and open, clearly enjoying himself.

"Shouldn't you be getting his autograph?" Shit. It was Cesare and Bernard again. "Maybe his success will rub off on you."

Before she could retort, Jesse had finished and took her hand. "Thanks for waiting," he said, and, reading her face, turned to Cesare and Bernard. "Hi. I'm Jesse St James. Are you friends of Rachel's? "

Their faces fell.

"You-you know Rachel?" Bernard ventured, lamely.

"Of course." He pulled her close to him. "We've been friends for years. Are you in any of her classes?"

"We were-when she was here before she dropped out for Hollywood." Cesare just didn't know when to shut up.

"You mean, before she won the lead role in _Funny Girl_? And turned down the co-lead with me in _Urban Prophet_ to come back here instead?" Jesse's eyes had a cold gleam. "What roles have you won or turned down?"

"Uh...we-"

"I didn't think so." He snorted with contempt, then looked at Rachel. "Are these the guys you said Marge called Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?"

Rachel chuckled. "Yes indeed."

They began to bristle, but Jesse cut them off.

"Get the fuck out of my sight, you pissants," he growled, "Or I'll sic Berry on you. She's tougher and more talented than I'll ever be. Certainly more than the two of you."

Rachel tugged him down the hall, away from the shocked pair.

"I was only going to scare them, honest." Jesse said.

"By sicing me on their worthless asses?" Rachel laughed.

"Well, you can be pretty scary."

"You would do well to keep that in mind, St James."

He grinned, and she leaned into him, content, drawing more than a few envious glances from other students.

Jesse insisted on driving Rachel home before heading to the theater.

"How did Carmen know you and I were friends?"

"I'm not sure," Jesse said, shrugging. "She and Russell know each other from way back . Maybe he told her what I had told him about you and me when he offered you the part."

That sounded plausible.

"Thanks for your help," he said, pulling her close. She snuggled up to him.

"My pleasure. I hope you won't be too tired tonight."

"I'll be fine. I feel energized."

"It's still early. Can I make you snack before you go back?" She knew he was like her and Marge, unable to eat dinner before a show, which always left them ravenous afterwards.

"No, that's okay. I have cheese and fruit delivered to my dressing room every night two hours before the show."

"No fresh puppies?"

"What?"

"Never mind." She gave him a mischievous look. "I'll tell you about that some day."

He walked with her to her building, and kissed her in front of the doorman. She waved as he got back into the car. And stood on the sidewalk, deep in thought.

Jesse was different. He was still ridiculously talented, and even better-looking now that he had this role (except for the hair). He still dressed chicly, but in a more understated, less theatrical manner. She decided it was their relationship that had changed—greatly for the better. Before, New Directions and Vocal Adrenaline's fortunes lay in their hands, and the rivalry, even without her mother's meddling, cast a shadow on anything that could have developed between them. Now that they were no longer competing, they could appreciate—even treasure-their similarities and common interests. The balance of power in the relationship had changed as well. Back then he had been the experienced one and her the up-and-coming ingenue. It was different now; the balance of power via experience had shifted. And they had both been humbled by circumstances and bad decisions.

Watching the afternoon traffic, Rachel pondered the fact that she liked Jesse. She always had. He was witty, and sometimes unintentionally ridiculous. He was knowledgeable about the theater and music, even as the worldliness he projected masked a shockingly poor general education. Not that Rachel judged him on that; she felt her own educational deficiencies as well, which was why she was determined to get as well-read as possible outside of NYADA's narrow curriculum. Jesse genuinely cared for her. She could feel it and especially appreciated his respect for her complex situation with the slow, low-pressure, yet open approach he was taking with her.

She turned to go inside, and was startled as the memory of the time they almost had sex intruded on her thoughts. Since that time her sex life had awakened, defined by two extremes: the physically astonishing and satisfying prowess of Brody, and Finn's innocent but far more spiritually fulfilling lovemaking. She imagined Jesse would fall somewhere in between those extremes, and allowed herself to think about what it might be like to sleep with him. To her grateful surprise, there was no pain or guilt, only the fond memory of the last time she slept with Finn, in that hotel after the wedding.

 _She had been more assertive this time, and hoped he wasn't upset because she was more experienced now. He certainly didn't seem to be upset, leaning on one elbow, gazing at her, but she couldn't read the expression on his face._

" _I'm sorry I'm so rusty," he said._

 _She reached out to stroke his cheek._

" _No apologies, remember?" And he looked happier than she had seen him in a long time, which broke her heart._

" _Not even for that stupid 'no-contact' rule?"_

" _Especially for that," she said, and looked him directly in the eyes. "You were in pain, Finn, and just wanted it to stop."_

" _It hasn't completely stopped."_

" _I know, baby."_

 _She didn't elaborate by pointing out that the repercussions of his decision to put her on that train, to find her destiny without him, were still echoing in their universe. But at least he knew she still loved him, that he could draw on her love for him for as long as he lived. He saw the endgame much more clearly than she did, and she wasn't ready to change her direction quite yet. The universe, at least in her eyes, hadn't revealed its secrets. Nevertheless, she took comfort in the fact that she was beginning to see a life together for them as a possibility._

 _There were a few more chapters to be written first._

Rachel pondered that memory all through her dinner, especially kissing him goodbye when he was still asleep the next morning. It was the last time she kissed him. It had been the last time they had ever touched, and for the longest time she had avoided thinking about that moment, afraid of the pain it would bring.

Now, however, it represented something greater than itself, and except for a faint, poignant ache in her chest, Rachel felt no pain. That last night together was a gift each gave the other, a grounding point from which to begin an arc that would lead her back to him, and him to her. Even his death could not stop that arc from bringing them together, because, for all intents and purposes, they already were. The arc, those people and experiences they had yet to encounter, was necessary for the endgame to last. He had to find his true self, and she had to fulfill her dream.

Rachel smiled at Finn's simple wisdom that led to the decision to let her go. He may not have known it then, but it set her on an independent path, fraught with mistakes, true, but her own nonetheless. Finn had made his share of mistakes as well, but he was on the path he believed to be the right one, and he knew she loved him when he died. And he had died happy.

She sipped her wine and felt a warmth inside that she hadn't felt in a long time. She wanted to live. She wanted to make art with someone again, to _make love_ again.

He had given her the strength to live her life without him.


	8. Chapter 8

They ate at a small Italian bistro in the West Village that was open until 4 am. Jesse actually looked relieved there were no paparazzi about, which told Rachel he was probably tired out. Even at this late hour, the place was almost full.

"We don't have to go dancing, you know, not if you need rest," she said. His smile was wan, but he perked up at her remark.

"Actually, I'll get my second wind after putting away a decent meal."

He complimented her on the elegant simplicity of her outfit- a simple tailored white shirt and perfectly-fit jeans. She thought he looked great and rare for New York in an equally simple dark blue polo shirt and khakis.

The waiter dropped off the menus and wine list. They asked for a couple of minutes to decide on the food and the wine. Jesse looked over the menu and his eyes lit up. "I know what I want," he announced.

"What?" Rachel was trying to decide, and was open to suggestions.

"Garlic shrimp linguini." She nodded, and made up her mind quickly.

"I think I'll try the mushroom risotto."

"Let's share off each other's plates!" Jesse looked ravenous. "You can skip the shrimp."

"You never know, I may try a shrimp or two." His appreciative grin made her laugh.

He perused the wine list. "Do think a nice dry white wine would go with both?"

"Sure." She would have suggested a dry champagne, but was curious as to what his choice would be.

The waiter returned, and he ordered for the both of them. She liked his confident, but not demanding style:

"The lady will have the mushroom risotto, and I will have the garlic shrimp linguini. And for the wine..."He looked over the wine list one final time. "We would like a Pinot Grigio." He looked over at her and she smiled in agreement. "You have several. Which one would you recommend?"

The older man gave it some thought. "We have several Italian ones. I would recommend the Livio Fellugá, from Friuli. It's my personal favorite."

It was relatively inexpensive, $20, compared to the others. She smiled, and Jesse ordered it. When the waiter was gone, he buttered some delicious-looking crusty bread for her and him. They both took a bite and moaned at the same time.

"Good Lord." Rachel closed her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she ate such fresh bread with real butter.

"We're going to explore this city thoroughly," he said.

"We are?" She and Kurt had both lamented the fact they hadn't spent enough time doing that.

"Yep. We're going to find every decent place to eat or listen to live music." He fascinated her at how animated he had become, waving his hands. "Every museum, art film theatre and park. We're going to become quintessential New Yorkers. You and me."

"And then?" Rachel encouraged him.

He leaned forward and cupped her chin in his hand. "And then," she had never seen his eyes so blue, "we're going to take this town by storm."

She smiled as the waiter arrived and stood discretely by with the wine.

"Well, before we do that, let's have a drink."

They clinked glasses after the pouring, and sipped. The wine was crisp, cold, and delicious. They both gave the waiter a grateful nod, and he left, pleased.

"Rachel, you know we both have the chops to make it in this town. Let's do it together. What do you say?"

By his demeanor Rachel knew he was serious. Jesse had always seen them as this unstoppable artistic partnership, a coming together of two souls, uncannily alike. And when she was being honest with herself, Rachel admitted she felt similarly at times. But she hadn't come this far after having been so low, to alter her plans. The kind of partnership she knew Jesse was talking about wouldn't be possible for at least three years. She owed it to him to make that clear.

"It sounds tempting." She reached out her hand to reassure him, and rubbed his knuckles slowly with her thumb to also let him know she had no intention of cooling the progress of what was developing between them. "There's no reason we can't start laying the foundation for that. But I have to tell you something first."

Their food arrived, and before continuing, they shared something off each other's plate.

"You weren't kidding about eating a shrimp," he said, laughing. She smirked, then returned to the subject, reaching out for his hand again.

"I will always be honest with you." Rachel paused, with a pained expression. "And I don't say this lightly, because I once told Finn that and went on to tell him two lies, both of which had disastrous consequences. I want you to know I learned my lesson."

Jesse said nothing, just nodded.

"I don't think we will ever be the couple you might have envisioned when we were in high school, because what I went on to experience with Finn changed me forever. I will always love him. I will always miss him." She may have seen a twinge of sadness in his eyes, so she rubbed his knuckles again. "I tell you this because its only fair that you know Finn will always be entangled in our relationship. "Then she smiled. "But I also want—no, _need_ \- you to know that this doesn't mean I can't return the love you've professed for me. It doesn't mean you must take second place in my heart. It just means you have to be willing to stand alongside him. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense,' he answered immediately, then added, with a tender smile that gave her such relief, "I'd be honored. I know he hated me. I just have to hope he can accept my promise to never betray you the way I did before."

Rachel got up from the table and walked around it, slipping into Jesse's lap and kissing him in front of the other customers.

"I'm still finding my way back from Finn's death," she whispered,"but I want you to know I'm interested, okay? We'll just have to work around my school and your show for a few years."

"So, basically, you're asking someone who thinks instant gratification takes too damned long, to be patient with you."

"That's exactly what I'm asking. Are you in?" She giggled.

"How could I not be?"

They returned to eating. Rachel approved of his appetite, but had a suggestion.

"You can't afford to lose ten pounds after every performance," she chided. "So I expect you to order dessert."

They talked about Thanksgiving. Not only was Jesse working Thanksgiving Day, but an extra matinee on Friday as well. Rachel was going to fly home with Kurt and Blaine, and spend the holiday with her dad, though they were invited to Carole and Burt's for dessert.

"What about Hiram? Are you going to see him? You can drive my car to Cleveland on the way back if you want."

"No, it's okay, really. He's coming to New York the week before on business. I thought we could have dinner and then catch your show? Maybe come backstage?"

"I'll make the arrangements." Jesse looked pleased. He had been a big help to Rachel over the summer during their phone calls, listening to her try and work out her parents's divorce. His parents were still happily married, still the best friends they had been before falling in love, something Rachel adored in them, because her dads had been the same way. That is, until this divorce. They weren't fighting, or bitter, or even angry. It was subtler than that; something had _broken_ , and neither had really been able explain to her what that was. Neither of them was seeing anybody else, as far as she knew.

"I know children of divorcing parents shouldn't feel that the breakup is their fault," she said looking down at her plate. "But I do, sometimes."

Jesse said nothing. In fact, in most of her conversations with him about her dads, he rarely spoke at all. He certainly didn't try and tell her what she should be feeling, or doing. When he did speak, it was to merely offer support. Otherwise, he just listened, like some Zen confessor. She had asked him about it once, and he said it wasn't his place to give that kind of advice, only support. Rachel wished more people had been like that with her when Finn died.

He did say, "I'd love to see him again. He's hilarious."

They talked about the show. Rachel couldn't get enough details, asking question after question until Jesse sat back, wiping his mouth with the napkin.

"Are you sure you want to wait three more years before jumping back into the life?"

"Oh, I'm sure."

After dessert (crème brulee for her, and tiramasu for him, along with outstanding black coffee), Rachel noticed Jesse looked even more worn than he had earlier. She repeated her offer to not go dancing afterwards, but he countered with a perfect Tyrion Lannister from _Game of Thrones_ impression, making her chuckle:

"A St James _always_ pays his debts."

In the car, they started talking about her mother. Shelby had moved from New York to London, working as a song coach.

"Beth will be attending some expensive primary boarding school when she's old enough. Typical." Rachel crossed her arms, under no illusions about her mother anymore. Jesse noticed, and changed the subject.

"I regret not seeing your show."

"I know. I think you would have been proud of me."

"Just for the record," he kissed her sweetly,"I am proud of you. And not just for _Funny Girl."_ She caressed his cheek and snuggled with him.

They said very little the rest of the drive.

A largely hipster crowd was hanging around outside the bar. Jesse's car pulling up in front raised a few eyebrows, but since nobody recognized them, Rachel and Jesse were able to enter without incident. A band was setting up, next to a baby grand piano. Rachel saw Emily at a table and waved. The man with her stood up. He was a couple of inches shorter than Jesse, with a curly mop of sandy-hair and round wire-rim glasses. He wore a tan corduroy jacket over a blue work shirt and jeans.

Hi, I'm Tom Foley," he said. "You must be Rachel and Jesse." They shook hands.

"You made it in time to still to order a drink, but Tom's set just finished," Emily said, and Jesse got up to do that. He looked at Rachel.

"A good scotch with a splash of spring water, please" she said, making him laugh.

"You constantly surprise me."

"Life's too short to drink cheap hooch." She winked.

"Hear, hear!" Tom and Emily said. They were splitting a Napa Valley bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

"I'm so honored to meet you," Rachel smiled at Tom. "I've never met a _bona fide_ Broadway composer before."

"Off-Broadway, so far," Tom gently corrected her, with a smile.

"Not for long." Emily put her arm around his shoulder. "Not when the world hears what I've been hearing the last six months." The pride in her voice and look was adorable. He blushed.

Rachel was about to ask about his new show when Jesse returned with two highball glasses.

"They had several single malts, but I wasn't sure if you had any preferences regarding them, so I made an executive decision and went for a blend." He handed her drink over. "I figured I couldn't go wrong with Johnnie Walker Black."

"You figured correctly, sir," Rachel said, sipping , then beaming her approval.

Tom's new show was called "Beneath the Cobblestones", after a French saying from the student uprising in 1968. His mother had been a student at the University of Paris during the rioting, while his father had been an Army medic with the 1st Air Cavalry in Vietnam. Both became physicians after the war, and met in Cambodia working for Doctors Without Borders. The plot involved characters modeled after his parents, and their relationship with their grown children, also doctors, during the Iraq War.

"It's about family, love, duty, and conscience," Tom said.

Rachel almost died inside- she wanted to be part of a show like that. But her discipline soon kicked in, and she ended up telling Jesse they would have to get front row tickets for the opening. Emily looked so happy.

They chatted agreeably until the band—called Plausible Deniability-finished setting up.

It was a stripped-down, 5-member outfit: two guitars, keyboards, bass and drums. The guitarist/vocalist approached the mike.

"Hi folks," he said. "We'd like to thank Tom Foley for that awesome first set." The band clapped, and the audience did too. "Now we'd like to play a rocker." They opened with a keening, shockingly loud lead guitar wail, followed by a chugging rhythm and a kick drum that Rachel could feel deep in her chest. It was the classic BoDeans' tune, "Say About Love":

 _ **Well, they say that love makes the world go 'round  
Keep it flyin' high, bring it down  
Say about love, that's what they're sayin'**_

 _ **Well, time's gettin' bad, times getting tough  
Say if you got love then you got enough  
Say about love, that's what they're sayin'**_

Jesse grinned and took Rachel's hand, and they ran out to the dance floor. Tom and Emily followed, and for a moment everyone just watched them.

 _ **That's what they say about love  
That's what they're sayin', they say about love  
**_  
And she felt free, just twisting and bobbing with him, like she had at the prom so long ago, when she didn't think Finn would ever forgive her, and Jesse had returned to make amends, and she was just a young girl who loved music and loved dancing, and life right then just consisted of her, a boy and a dance floor. And the weight of the loss and death and broken dreams hadn't happened yet.

 _ **And they say that love is all around  
The only trouble is trying to track it down  
Say about love, that's what they're sayin'**_

 _ **Love is the answer, the power supreme  
Some say love's just a freaky scene  
Say about love, that's what they're sayin'**_

 _ **That's what they say about love  
That's what they say about love  
Yeah, that's what they say about love  
That's what they say, say about love  
Say about love, they say about love**_  
 _ **They say about love**_

She danced slow with him, too, appreciating how light his touch was, and how he didn't grind into her like some horny kid. Kurt and the others would be surprised at the changes in him; she hoped Finn was too. And when she saw he couldn't go on much further, Rachel made sure they said their goodbyes and snuggled in the car. Her hand brushed his erection, and he was embarrassed (unnecessarily, she told him), and when he insisted that he walk her to her door and kiss her goodnight, she whispered they would make love soon, when they both weren't exhausted.

"Thank you so much for tonight," she added. "I haven't felt as carefree in a long time."

He told her to sleep well, and that he would dream about her. She asked if she could take him to brunch the next day.

"I'd like to fuel your next performance," she said.

"You already have," he said.

 **A/N: Lyrics for "Say About Love" by Samuel J Llanas and Kurt R Neumann**


	9. Chapter 9

" _Do you have any actors you consider role models?" she asked him. They were sitting on a blanket at the lake, the Saturday after he told her he had applied to Pace. He gave her a shy smile._

" _Jimmy Stewart."_

 _She clapped her hands in delight, even as he made that difficult by trying to kiss her. They were both wet from swimming, and he was aroused at the sight of her in this white, almost sheer bikini._

" _Excellent choice, baby. What about him do you admire?"_

 _He paused, then raised himself on one elbow, knowing that when she wanted to talk, there was little he could do to distract her._

" _He plays good men."_

 _Her hand caressed his cheek._

" _But Finn, you wouldn't be acting if you played good men."_

 _She felt his hand slide under the leg opening of her bikini._

" _Okay then," he whispered in her ear, "Let me try being bad for a while."_

Rachel awoke, embracing the memory. She liked how it made her feel; proud of him and aroused at the same time, glad to remember him at his more confident, before the weight of events almost crushed his spirit. And it felt good to think about his playful side.

She felt the familiar warm dampness pooling between her legs, along with the physical ache, remembering Finn's simple adoration. Brody had never quite made her feel like that. She knew, from a conversation with Finn, that Body had said he loved her, but Rachel couldn't remember feeling anything more from him than an almost soulless eroticism. Brody didn't possess anything like Finn's simple sweetness, the way he would look at her and be unable to speak, or the tender way he always held her afterwards. In her low moments soon after his death, Rachel wondered what, besides her talent, Finn ever saw in her. She remembered his little jokes about not being able to get a word in edgewise, and worried that he truly resented it, even though her heart told her otherwise. She looked in the mirror, and all the remembered insults about her appearance emerged again, like conjured spirits. It didn't matter that she was always beautiful in his eyes, or that she had tried to develop a healthy sense of self-worth; without Finn she abruptly felt ugly and annoying again, even as she professionally had triumphed. With only her career left, she almost reverted back to what she had been before ever joining Glee club.

The sun had yet to rise, but a faint glow filtered through her curtains, barely illuminating her bedroom.

She hoped Finn knew how much she had loved him, how much she had equally returned that adoration, that she hadn't ever taken him for granted. He had, against all odds, managed to unlock her. Even when she was at her loneliest, she hoped she could show somebody the love of which she knew she was capable, thanks to Finn. Because she had never been the ruthlessly ambitious girl everyone thought she was. Once Finn had opened her heart, her true self had slowly, painfully, emerged, as if from a chrysalis, drying its wings as she discovered that balance between love and ambition. Even Finn's death couldn't suppress it: Rachel Berry's open, loving heart could not be put back. Its liberation had been his most lasting gift to her.

And she now felt empowered to use that freedom, to give herself—and someone else- a chance.

She stretched in her bed, like a cat, and imagined Jesse adoring her in a similar way. At least, she wanted him to. And the only way to find out, she decided, would be to give him the opportunity. But first she would let him get some rest, and then text him about getting brunch around ten.

After getting up and making coffee, she read more of _The Razor's_ _Edge,_ as the sun finally filled her apartment. Larry Darrel's search for meaning, after the horrors of war that he experienced, touched her to the core. One line struck her in particular:

 _ **When you're eighteen your emotions are violent, but they're not durable.**_

Was that true? Rachel wasn't sure she agreed, but enjoyed being made to stop and think, which led to a peculiar feeling of embarrassment for not having read much of anything before that made her do that. Even more peculiar was it also made her want to read more. A whole other world existed out there; one she barely knew even existed. She felt as if she had been given the key. Now all that was left was to use it. Her decision to continue an education seemed ever so much more the right one.

She told Jesse so at brunch, in a wonderful breakfast place Marge recommended.

"My life is opening up in so many ways," she said.

Jesse still looked tired. Rachel remembered how it had taken a few weeks to get used to the grueling schedule of a Broadway actor. It involved more than the physical exertion- it was also the adjustment to working at night. He looked happy, as he should be. When they had been together in high school they talked about this being heaven, the great reward for all the single-minded preparation each of them was willing to put in instead of playing video games and partying like their friends.

"Is being here, where you are now, what we dreamed it would be like back then?" she asked.

"It's almost better." And he grinned at her. "You remember what we talked about, that time in your room? How we would be the power couple of Broadway?"

Of course she remembered. When she met Jesse she hadn't completely understood what Finn meant to her. Jesse represented what she had imagined the man of her dreams would be. The idea of both of them conquering Broadway made their relationship, before the truths came out, exciting. And sweet. Yes, sweet, looking back. But now, after all that had happened since, she had to ask him a very difficult question.

"How much of that was true for you?"

She felt crass bringing it up, but to truly move on, this was something she had to know. There could be no secrets. And, to her joy, Jesse didn't shy away. He took a sip of coffee and looked directly at her.

"Vocal Adenaline was like a cult," he said. His voice was odd, almost a monotone. "You know how cults are, completely insular, and make a point of isolating their members from everyone else. We worked together, ate together, even slept with each other. I was their star, and all the girls wanted to be with me." He bit his lip. "And I let them. And when Shelby came to me and said she wanted me to gain your confidence, at first I just looked at it as another assignment. At first I thought she wanted me to do this to break you." He sighed, and looked into the distance, ashamed. "And that's what I set out to do."

It was shocking to hear him actually come out and say it.

"But it turned out she wanted to reconnect with you. And here's the awful thing." Rachel had never seen Jesse so pained and remorseful. "She didn't care what effect breaking off our relationship would have on you. It was all about her. And when it came to the National championship—" He looked away, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It was all about me."

"You came back, Jesse," Rachel said, gently. "That's what counted, as far as I was concerned. That's why I forgave you." His expression didn't change.

"I was too late."

"At that point in my life, yes, you were."

"And now?"

"That depends," she teased, "upon what other secrets you have to reveal."

She could see he was thinking before answering, and panicked, wondering if he was about to destroy the delicate structure they had built so far.

"I have just one."

He smiled, and not like he did the the moment before breaking the egg on her head. It was gentler, almost reluctant, which made her more curious rather than apprehensive.

"After your Nationals performance, I sought out Carmen Tibideaux in the lobby." His hand ran back, over his short hair, and she would remember his look for the rest of her life: a combination of love, pride, and embarrassment. She said nothing, encouraging him with her eyes. "I told her you were the most talented person I'd ever met." Rachel blushed in surprise. "I promised her that she wouldn't regret admitting you to NYADA."

She sat, with little expression, absorbing what he had just said. It must have spooked him, because he began to look worried. So she reached out to touch his hand and shook her head.

"No, no, its okay. I-" She stopped, still unsure what to say. But she rubbed his knuckles in reassurance, watching his anxiety ease as a soft smile came over her face. "You're a lovely man," she said, finally.

He sipped his coffee again, relieved. "I wasn't sure how you'd react to that revelation."

"I understand." Then she added, because she had caught a fleeting glimpse of the way Finn used to look at her on Jesse's face, "You have no idea what knowing that means to me."

He picked at his eggs, then met her gaze. "I've loved you for a long time, Rachel."

She waited to respond, long enough to have made a lesser man nervous, but Rachel understood that Jesse was no longer insecure about the two of them, and that he openly accepted the entanglements of her past. All she had to do was graciously accept his declaration; he expected nothing more at this point.

"It's a beautiful Saturday," she said, and squeezed his hands, letting him know that his love of her wasn't necessarily one-sided anymore. "And I would have suggested going to Battery Park, but I have some schoolwork to finish up-" She winked. "-before you come over to my place after your show."

"I cant imagine anything I would like more," he said.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: this short chapter will get very explicit. As always, reviews are welcome.**

He was kissing her. Not roughly, nor even forcefully, but with close attention, making sure her lips could translate the pressure into a measure of how much he loved her. The back of her head was pressed against the pillow, and she could smell her freshly-laundered bed linen along with the simple body-wash he had used to shower with before coming over. His promise, so long ago, to be clean for her, echoed in her mind.

She ran her hands up and down his back, knees gripping his flanks, marveling at how muscled he was; both of them were leaner—tougher-than before. He paused kissing her and she opened her eyes, taking him in, and only fleetingly missed seeing Finn before letting her own lust take over, pulling him closer.

Jesse had arrived at her apartment bearing roses: not the traditional red, but, to her delight, a beautiful bouquet of delicate pink Queen Elizabeth's. He wore a snappy black jacket and trousers, over an open royal blue shirt. They laughed, since the shirt was the same color as her short silk dress. He placed the roses in the vase while Rachel fixed them drinks.

"Since you asked, this is my single malt of choice." She showed him a bottle of The Macallan 21-year-old scotch. "Don't ask what it costs." After adding a splash of spring water, she stopped by the roses, and breathed deep. "My God, thank you," she said, then sat on the couch with him. His deeply appreciative look as she crossed her legs did not escape her notice. She handed him his drink and they clinked glasses; after sipping, he looked up in surprise and appreciation.

"Paolo got me hooked on this," she said, pleased. "We had a drink together after every performance."

Jesse was looking at her _Funny Girl_ poster on the opposite wall, alongside one of _That's So Rachel._ Rachel followed his glance.

"They represent my past," she said, easily now. "I'm determined to embrace it, all of it. And that includes you."

He turned to face her, and she saw admiration.

"Nobody ever knew just how tough you actually were."

"It was too easy to hide behind the disappointment and grief." She held her glass in both hands and sipped. The whisky's familiar complexity warmed her. "But Finn and I met Patti LuPone at Sardi's before nationals that first time, and I promised her I'd never give up." Rachel stared into her glass. "In a way, I made that promise to Finn, too." Then she looked up quickly at him. "I'm making it to you as well."

He put down his drink and took her in his arms. "I'm honored." She downed her whisky, then snuggled close.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, happy, as he kissed her. It lingered, and afterwards she breathlessly whispered if he was hungry.

"Yes," he whispered back and picked her up in his arms.

She felt his arousal, hot and hard against her mound now as he raised himself up on his elbows so that he could drop his head and tongue her nipple. She squeezed her thighs harder against his torso in response, still shivering from the way he had slowly undressed her.

To be honest, she had worried about this moment, afraid that guilt would stop her at the last second. But it never came, and the physical ache overwhelmed her, so much so that she dug her fingers into his back. "I want you," she gasped, "now."

He shifted his weight and soon she felt him tentatively probing at her entrance, sending shivers through her. She squeezed her eyes shut in pleasure as his soft tip rubbed her button. Her knees clamped on him, almost involuntarily.

And then he was inside, and as Rachel felt herself accommodate him, she let out a little gasp of finality to the pleasure, as if she she'd been waiting for this her entire life. There was the overwhelming urge to bear down on him, and she thrilled to hear him moan, while at the same time needing to suppress a laugh at the flashing realization that, while Jesse may not have been as well-endowed as Finn (Santana had privately worried that Rachel could handle it), he was substantially more satisfying than Brody. And as his hips began to move she caressed the back of his head, kissing him deeper than she thought possible.

 _She turned her head sleepily towards him on the blanket. Her bikini and his trunks lay on the grass a few feet away The sun was warm on her body._

" _That was excellent," she murmured, and reached for Finn's hand, which had been slowly stroking her lower belly. He gave her a lazy grin, moving his hand even lower._

" _You sure were," he answered, his voice dazed with pleasure. Rachel relished how she had blown away his expectations after that first time. She knew he thought her little speech at the Celibacy Club had just been pure bravado. What he didn't know—what none of the others knew, or even suspected—was how sensual she truly was. It was her little surprise bonus for him, a way of returning his devotion, something she had promised herself to give freely to the man who truly loved her._

Her knees kept in sync, still holding him in place, so that every thrust was anticipated and countered perfectly. Rachel brought Jesse to a moan again, bearing down as he moved, as if she were milking him with her very walls, because she knew he loved her, and was giving her such exquisite pleasure as well. His chest grazed her nipples, and she gasped again, almost letting out a scream, it all felt so good, and he pumped harder, faster, building up the anticipation. Her body felt as if it were being wound up, like a spring.

" _Jesus_ , Rachel," he panted as she squeezed down again. Her scent was filling the room, as were the wet sounds of his thrusts into her. Their breaths grew ragged now as he sensed her close to her moment as well as his own—her tightening made him acutely aware of the ridges lining her walls. A drop of sweat flicked off the ends of her hair, landing on her shoulder.

 _The breeze off the lake cooled her body and she curled up, not used to being naked outside like this. Finn smiled at her._

" _Isn't this spot great? There's nobody here."_

 _She rolled onto her stomach and gazed at him as he lay on his side, watching her._

" _I made you moan," she said, snickering._

It was time. Her response was now beyond her control, and as the spring unwound within her the waves flowed and she moaned Jesse's name as, in an instant, she felt her quarterback hand off the ball to him. She wanted to cry but needed oxygen because Jesse continued pumping, eyes squeezed shut, still sending pleasure through her until, finally, he let out a deep sigh. She clutched Jesse to her, not letting him withdraw, enjoying his warm, hard wetness inside her.

"I want you to stay inside as long as you can," she murmured.

 _They spooned together on the blanket, his arms wrapped around her from behind._

" _I love you, Rachel," Finn said._

She asked Jesse if he wanted to eat—she had cooked some small steaks, but Jesse said he didn't want to get up and ruin the mood. So she snuggled close, spooning, letting his arms bring her to him from behind. She reached out and turned off her light. Being here in bed with him felt warm and safe.

"Thank you for loving me," she said.

"It is my honor."

The fact he didn't expect her to say she loved him in return convinced her of his sincerity. Warm, safe and happy, just before falling asleep, she allowed herself the possibility that she might love him, too, and for the first time felt not a twinge of pain or guilt.

"Thanks for being patient with me."

He kissed the back of her neck.

"It will be worth it," he said.


	11. Chapter 11

The only light in her living room was from the reading lamp by the armchair. It was four o'clock in the morning and Rachel was curled up in her robe, with a mug of fresh coffee, trying to read, but unable to concentrate. Jesse was still asleep in the bedroom, and she was loathe to wake him up, since it was Sunday and he had two shows to do. The problem was, she wanted to wake him up for more of the same from last night.

The dilemma drew a faint smile from her, because she had expected guilt to have complicated matters much worse than it did. Guilt had certainly given her pause when she had been with Sam. Yet he had been one of Finn's dearest friends. Surely choosing Jesse-whom Finn had actively despised- as her first since his death, should have dragged up far more issues than it did. Rachel wished she could still afford that shrink in LA she consulted after being fired. Maybe she could explain it.

Marge had told her this would happen, that one day a man would be able to bring out her erotic self again, but Rachel hadn't expected it to happen so soon. Did this mean she hadn't loved Finn enough? No. That wasn't it. She sipped her coffee, the confidence returning. No. She was ready because her life was under her control again. And Jesse had revealed himself to be complex, ambitious, and kind, a man who had grown up and made something of himself, a man who had fulfilled his artistic promise. And he loved her, maybe even as much as Finn, she wasn't sure. But it was at least obvious now, that when it came to her, Jesse lost the self-absorption which had so defined him in the past.

"Hey."

She looked up, surprised. He was standing in the doorway, looking ridiculously good in just a t-shirt and boxers.

"Hey," she said, smiling over her cup. "There's fresh coffee. But shouldn't you be resting?"

"I am resting." He went into the kitchen, came out with a mug, and settled on the floor in front of her chair, resting his back against it. His head leaned back, touching her legs and he shot her an upside-down grin.

"Damn woman, you look good from every angle."

Rachel leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. This new, relaxed intimacy felt right. She put down her cup, and with both hands began kneading Jesse's shoulders; they had felt tight last night. He groaned in pleasure. A memory of massaging Finn came and went without pain: he once claimed her fingers had magical powers, especially after a game. She decided to do the same for Jesse after a performance.

"Come over here after the show and I'll give you this again," she said. He reached back and took her hand in his, entwining fingers.

"When I awoke and found you gone, I feared you were in here having second thoughts."

"You did?" He nodded. Rachel got out of the chair and crawled into Jesse's lap. She threw an arm around his neck for support, then pulled his face to hers. "I have no regrets, if that's what you were worried about. I just didn't want to wake you."

They remained like this on the floor, the only sounds being their breathing and the faint noise from the street. Rachel wanted Jesse to know how much she enjoyed his physical presence. Then she spoke.

"I loved last night. To be honest, I wasn't sure how it would go, if I would get in my own way, you know?"

Jesse nodded. "Yeah, I was a bit anxious about it myself. You have been through so much. I was prepared to hold back if you needed me to."

"I let my heart make the decision," she said, caressing his cheek. "I hoped it would be natural and unforced." She gave a contented sigh. "And it was."

"I don't think any fantasy I've had about us was anywhere near as good."

She smiled and cuddled closer.

XXXXXXX

They fell into a pleasant routine, each working hard and spending the night at one or the other's place. The play was moderately successful, but still dogged by accusations from Mort Avera, the actor who Jesse had beaten for the part. Avera even tried to play the "cultural appropriation" card, drawing protesters outside the theatre. Jesse was forced to go on local radio and television shows with the producers and the director, defending it from the accusations, and for the moment, that seemed to work. Rachel, meanwhile, was deeply immersed in her classes. Singing and dancing were going very well, but she found the most satisfaction in the acting class, where Professor Jenkins truly made her stretch her talent. He praised her _Hedda Gabler_ assignment, then, during his office hours, told her he was pairing her up with the best student in the class, Norman Masters, for a challenging scene from a recent, Pulitzer Prize-winning play, _The Moon Garden_ , by a California playwright named Dave Welland.

"Actually, he's not known as a playwright," Jenkins said. "He writes science fiction. But he wrote this play for a woman, the novelist Giulia DeMarco. I saw it in New York last year, and met him and DeMarco afterwards. I told them it was the best play I'd seen in years and that I wanted to use a scene for my class."

 _The Moon Garden_ was about a young British aristocrat, Henry Vauxhall, badly wounded and partially disabled in the First World War, who encounters a destitute woman named Liza Pennington on the streets of London. Liza is disfigured from a munitions factory accident. They embark on what seems to be a doomed romance, crushed by their class differences and family opposition, but each finding solace in the other's basic understanding of what it is like to be treated as damaged goods.

"Their circumstances bring each of them to seriously question the bedrock values of post-war British society. " Jenkins looked excited. "The last scene contains some of the most intense, anguished dialogue in modern theater." He picked up a copy of the play and handed it to her. "Dave Welland wrote this straight from his heart, and that's what makes it so pure, raw, and special. He told me he wrote it a few years after his wife of 28 years had died, when he reconnected with Giulia, 30 years after they had split up and lived separate lives, married other people and had children with them. He said he poured all of the pain of loss and the joy of rediscovering Giulia into it."

Jenkins gave Rachel a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I know you and Norman will kill this scene."

Norman Masters was tall, dark, and intense. Everyone in the class admired his instinctive skill. Most were intimidated by him. Rachel, while not intimidated, was still a little nervous, but she was used to working with some very talented professionals, and invited him to have coffee with her in the lounge to talk about the project.

"This is going to be fun, Rachel. I've been hoping we could do something together."

"To be honest," she said, "I thought I'd be the last person you'd want to work with."

"Why on earth would you think that?" His eyebrows furrowed, puzzled, and for a moment Rachel thought she had come off as one of those annoying people fishing for compliments. To counter that, she gave him a cool, even look.

"Oh, because I've been to Hollywood. That's like being tainted, around here at least."

He surprised her by laughing.

"Yeah, I suppose so." His visage changed. "Not to me. I was hoping to get some tips from you. I mean _, That's So Rachel_ may have been awful, but it was experience, right? And I saw you in _Funny Girl_. You've got the chops for this business."

"I think you do, too," she said, honestly. He blushed.

They talked about the play, deciding to try and get it fully read in a couple of days, so they could start planning. She liked how he wanted to be thorough: "Both of us have to read the whole thing first, to get the context."

So they read the play over two days, and finished it at her place on a Friday night, while she waited for Jesse to be finished. One thing Rachel had come to appreciate about Norman was his cool professionalism. Some of the others in the class that she worked with seemed more interested in getting a date with her than working. Not so with Norman; he was in the middle of a passionate relationship with Anne Neilson, a cool, gorgeous blonde sophomore, a singer with operatic aspirations from San Francisco. Rachel and Anne became friends when she walked in on Rachel and Norman in his dorm room one night. Instead of freaking out, she told Norman to chill while she and Rachel talked singing shop.

The scene they had been assigned is the last, and follows a very emotional scene at night in the Vauxhall family garden, where Liza and Henry give each other up for complex and tenderly unselfish reasons. Neither Rachel nor Norman were prepared for the end, however. The last scene takes place twenty years later, when they meet accidentally in a London bomb shelter during the Blitz. Henry has given into, and fulfilled, his family dream, by winning election to Parliament and marrying a distant, monied heiress. Liza is still desperately poor, working as a hotel maid, after having followed her bricklayer husband to Spain, where both of them fought with the Communists against Franco, and where the fascists cruelly executed him after he was wounded and captured. Both Henry and Liza watch the spark they once had flicker for a moment, then get snuffed out. Henry is shocked at how much Liza has changed. Her speech, once simple and uneducated, is now articulate and informed. She has thrown off any deference to his class whatsoever. She is now a fiercely dedicated Marxist, just like her husband was, and can't forgive Henry for fully embracing the values of the ruling class that led to the slaughter of the first war, and set the seed for the second. She tells him he has betrayed himself, all of his fallen comrades, and the British people. At the end, in tears, she delivers the most shocking line of the play:

 _ **Even my love for you cannot change this simple fact: it is our duty, a moral necessity, to put you and every one of your class up against the wall when the revolution comes.**_

Rachel and Norman sat looking at each other, dumbfounded.

"I didn't see that coming," said Rachel.

"Me neither. I think we'd better go back and reread this."

They were in the middle of that when Jesse arrived. Rachel jumped up and kissed him.

"How was the show? I've got a plate warming for you in the oven." He kissed her back and nodded at Norman. They had met before when Jesse showed up outside her class to take her to lunch.

"It was great, thanks." He kissed her back. "You guys continue, I'll help myself."

She joined Norman in the living room. He stood up, stretching.

"Hey, thanks for the session, Rachel. But I'm going to get back."

"Sure you don't want a drink first?" Jesse called from the kitchen. "I could use a belt, myself."

Norman paused, then grinned. "Sure, What are you drinking?"

Jesse emerged with a bottle of Maker's Mark bourbon. "Rachel keeps one on hand for me."

"Sounds good, thanks."

Rachel and Norman joined Jesse at her kitchen table. Jesse poured them drinks, than brought his plate over which had some spaghetti and meatballs along with some garlic bread she had in her toaster oven. Jesse raised his glass.

"To show business," he said, and all three clinked tumblers together. Jesse downed his in one gulp, laughing. "That's better," he sighed and tucked into his meal. Norman winked at Rachel and they sipped.

"So," Jesse said. "You two looked really serious when I walked in."

"This acting assignment is a doozy," Rachel said. Norman nodded. They told him about the play's devastating ending.

"Sounds like quite a challenge," Jesse remarked between bites. Rachel thought at one point he was going to inhale the meal, and smiled, glad he was enjoying it. She got up and poured him some chianti.

"It's got some intense emotion in it, that's for sure," Norman said.

Jesse laughed and sipped some wine. "Don't worry, Norm; Berry eats that up," he said, the pride in his voice unmistakable. She blushed.

"I have no doubt," Norman said, getting up. "I've seen her in action." He turned to go. "I really have to get back. Anne is waiting." And he winked, and Rachel could see Jesse giving him a _bro-code_ look.

"Thanks, Rachel. Let me know when you've finished rereading, so we can make sure we haven't missed anything. See you around, Jesse."

"Take care." Jesse waved as Rachel walked him to the door. She returned and he

began rubbing his shoulders as he finished up.

"Any protesters tonight?" She felt the strength in his build through her fingers.

"A few," he said, then sighed in pleasure as she broke a tight spot."Damn, girl..." she poured some more wine for both of them.

"This assignment is going to be big," she said. "It's going to take all I have to do it right."

"You've got this," Jesse said. "Since when does Rachel Berry ever give less than all she has?"

"Finish up, St James," she ordered, and pulled her t-shirt over her head.


	12. Chapter 12

"I'm still trying to make sense of this play," Rachel told Jesse in bed the next night. "I'm still not sure how to play Liza correctly."

"Is there a 'correct' way?" Jesse asked mildly. He was lying on his side, propping up his chin. "I mean, aren't you allowed to put your own stamp on the character?"

He had a point of course, but the problem was, Rachel couldn't seem to put her finger on Liza. How could somebody who loved Henry so completely come to hate him enough to want to have him executed? It went against all of Rachel's instincts.

Norman, it turned out, had the same problem.

"He saw what his family was doing to them, and yet he ends up having given in," he said the next day when they met in the lounge. "Are we really supposed to believe he was that weak, that he just caved in to them in the end?"

They met with Jenkins after class and said their characters didn't make any sense.

"Reread the play," Jenkins said.

"We did," said Rachel.

"Then read it again." Jenkins leaned back in his chair. "I promise you, the clues are there, in the text. But I do have one other suggestion..." He rummaged in his desk and found a business card, then copied an email address on a piece of paper. He handed it to Norman. "Why don't you try discussing it with the author?"

"What?" Norman stood up. "Why would he want to talk to us?"

"Yeah," Rachel added, "He's a Pulitzer Prize winner."

"True," Jenkins admitted, "But wouldn't it be fascinating if he was willing to discuss his characters with actors, even if they are students? It's not like a novelist getting a letter from some fan. Playwrights depend on actors to bring their words to life. It's a symbiotic relationship. And in this case there isn't some egotistical director getting in the way. " Then he paused and grinned. "Good thing I chose a play whose author happens to still be alive, isn't it?"

After class they sat in the lounge and tried composing a letter to Welland. Having to focus their concerns about the characters like that made them realize they hadn't read the play thoroughly enough.

"I don't want us to come across sounding like a couple of dufi," Norman said, and Rachel giggled, agreeing.

They started reading again, but this time, at Rachel's suggestion, they paid very close attention to the other characters. About halfway through, Rachel sat up.

"Wait a minute…" She flipped back. "Go back to the dinner party scene with Henry and his family."

"Okay."

"Remember when Henry is asked how he's doing and gets interrupted by that woman, Mrs Willingham, who changes the subject to a village memorial for the war dead?"

"Yes… "

"It seemed just a throwaway line, right? No discussion involving it."

Norman nodded. Rachel turned a few pages.

"Well, look ahead to the scene where Liza's mother is describing her accident to a family friend, and the subject is changed to…" She looked up at Norman expectantly.

"The dedication of the Cenotaph in London."

"Right. Another memorial to the dead." Rachel looked up at the ceiling in thought.

"It happens again later…"

"Oh! Yes! When they start to talk about the disabled veteran beggars and somebody—I forget who—says they should be grateful to have lived…"

"It almost as if the survivors are resented for having lived through it." Rachel wrinkled her brow. "How could we have missed this?"

"But how does that explain the ending?" Norman looked puzzled.

"I don't know," Rachel admitted. "I can see why Liza and Henry parted- neither wanted the class differences and opposition to keep hurting the other, even though they had their injuries in common. The greater interest by society in the dead than the living could also have made them feel like outcasts. But how that closeness could have eroded so badly—I don't know. I mean, it kind of makes sense where Liza's Marxism comes from, but I don't get Henry's complete embrace of his class after he seemed to relate to Liza so well. Maybe that's what we should ask Welland."

"Yeah, I agree. I'm confused by him—especially by his reaction to Liza's more sophisticated speech. He mentions it twice. It reminds me of _My Fair Lady,_ in a way, doesn't it? The way Liza doesn't sound working class anymore? "

Rachel sat up straight.

"Wait. Wasn't the character in _My Fair Lady_ named _Eliza_ Doolittle?" She gave Norman an excited look. "Could that be a coincidence?"

Norman was grinning now, leaning forward. "And the professor's name was _Henry_ Higgins."

Rachel high-fived him in delight.

"She did say that she wants to speak better, remember?" Norman nodded. "But that was to fit in with Henry's family. In our scene it's obvious she speaks differently because she educated herself as part of her embrace of Marxism."

"And instead of wanting to fit in with her betters, she now wants to destroy them." Norman shook his head. "Wow. Ironic."

Rachel took a deep breath. "There's a lot going on in this play," she said. "A lot of layers."

"At first I wondered how such a simple story could win a Pulitzer," Norman said. "I still don't think we've gotten to the bottom of it."

"So, do you think we should still write the letter? "

He grinned at her. "Hell yes!"

Watching Jesse eat dinner at her place that night, Rachel said they had written Welland, saying they were students at NYADA, and that Professor Jenkins had assigned them the last scene from his play, and that they had a few questions.

"What questions?" Jesse looked tired, but fascinated. She poured him some more wine.

"We wanted to know what drove Henry to ultimately sell out, you know?" Rachel smiled. "He is an enigma, especially since before the breakup, it was Henry that challenged the status quo. Liza was more reluctant. But in the end the roles are reversed. Its fascinating, and Norman still can't find the heart of his character."

"You've found the heart of yours, though, right?" Jesse looked proud.

"Well, not completely. Liza's extreme circumstances, her becoming a Marxist, then having her husband killed so awfully in Spain by fascists, I can see her coming to hate the ruling class of Britain. And I can see her viewing Henry as weak and one of them now. But there is still something missing, something I haven't quite put together about her, how she could want to kill the man who she had loved so passionately. Maybe it's just me, so I presented my analysis of her state of mind to Welland, and asked him if he thought that was enough to despise Henry the way she does. I said it didn't ring true to me."

Jesse stopped eating.

"Maybe Liza told him that to shock him into changing, a chance to maybe save himself. Is there any evidence of that in the scene?" He looked at Rachel, who was sitting straight up, a stunned look on her face. "Are you alright?"

"Oh my God, I never thought of that!" She jumped out of her chair and slid into his lap. "Want to know something that I love about you?" She rubbed his head.

"Sure. What?"

"Your artistic sensibility. You've got great instincts." She kissed him. "You're more than just a singer and dancer."

He took the compliment without making more out of it than there was, for which Rachel was grateful. Yes, he had said he loved her, and she hadn't returned the sentiment—yet. The inherent imbalance in their relationship sometimes made her nervous, but it was soon clear to her that Jesse also respected Rachel's sense of balance, and was content to let their relationship develop naturally. She was determined not to take his kindness and understanding for granted. He had brought a lightness to her heart again. She wanted to make sure he felt it, too.

"Finish eating," she ordered, giving him a smoky look. "You're going to need the energy."

Dave Welland wrote back the next day, much to Rachel's and Norman's delighted surprise. The email popped up on Norman's phone while they were in class, and they went to the lounge afterwards to read it.

 **Dear Ms Berry and Mr Masters,**

 **I was delighted and humbled to receive your email. I've been known as a science fiction writer almost my entire career, so it's not very often a distinguished professor decides to use my work as a teaching tool. It's also refreshing to get correspondence about my work from actors instead of readers, and even more gratifying to find your very perceptive questions. Before I try and answer them, however, there are some things about the play you should know.**

 **Firstly** _ **, The Moon Garden**_ **is a love letter to Giulia DeMarco, a woman I have known and loved since I was sixteen. I wrote it to celebrate our reunion after having being apart for thirty years, when we were married to other people (who we also loved), and had children with them. Giulia is a writer of historical fiction, specializing in the effect of the First World War on British society. I wanted her to know I had read all of her books.**

 **(She is looking over my shoulder as I write this, and wants me to tell you that I must have paid attention, because I got the history right! She also wants you to know that my late wife Nell was also one of her biggest fans.)**

 **Secondly, the basic idea for the plot was Giulia's—she had wanted it to be the basis for her first novel. While in college we wrestled with it, and ended up concluding it would work better as a play. Giulia has always said she doesn't have much of a theatrical sense, so she went on to write a different first novel, which was made into the Oscar-nominated film,** _ **Graveland**_ **. The notes sat in a folder I kept all these years, and when we reunited I pulled out the file and gave the idea a complete rethinking. The result is the play as it exists today.**

 **And now to address your questions. First of all, I'd like to commend both of you for picking out Liza and Henry's feelings of isolation from society's preoccupation with the war dead. This was common right after the war, primarily due to the cultural shock of so many dead, but another factor was the British Army's policy of burying war dead in the locations where they fell instead of shipping the remains home (you can imagine what the cost of that would have been for the 883,000 Commonwealth soldiers killed during the conflict). Families were deprived of the comfort having their dead loved ones nearby; they were forced to travel to cemeteries in France, Belgium and even Africa and Palestine. Giulia's novel** _ **Meadow Grass**_ **deals with this subject in depth, if you have time to read it.**

 **As for Henry Vauxhall, I think you captured much of the essence of his character, but there is another very important factor, possibly the most important, driving him: duty, not only to King and Country, but to his men and fellow officers. Casualty rates among officers in the British Army were appalling: 17% of officers were killed in the fighting, including** _ **200**_ **generals. Among enlisted men, the casualty rate was 12% at best. Henry went to Eton, which lost 1,000 former pupils (the vast majority were officers), 20% of the total Etonians who served, so it's only natural he would have a strong tie to them, and want to pay respects to their sacrifice as best he could. For Henry, duty to family was also an important factor- his father sat in the House of Lords, if you remember.**

 **(Giulia just said, "They get, it Dave. This is a letter, not a lecture. You made your point. Move on.")**

 **Of the two characters, Liza is probably the most complex, and you did a great job analyzing her motives, but I think there is something else lying in plain sight about her: she loves Henry, despite what happened to her and her husband, and what path he chose for his life without her. If you have ever loved somebody as completely as she did, then her motives should be clear; if you haven't, then by all means go and find someone to love like that, or talk to someone who has.**

 **May you perform the scene well, and many thanks for writing.**

 **Dave Welland**

"Are you okay?" Norman asked. Tears were welling up in Rachel's eyes, and she had a distant look.

"I loved someone like that, once" she said.

"You did?" Norman patiently let her compose herself. She nodded.

"He died soon after I was cast for _Funny Girl_."

"Good Lord, that must have been devastating."

Rachel nodded again, only this time she was smiling. She reached out and patted Norman's arm.

"I've got this," she said. "I've got Liza."

They went online and reserved a rehearsal room for a week to practice. She showed Jesse Welland's letter and kissed him when he got to the part about Liza.

"You see? Your instincts were right! I'm going to bring that into my interpretation."

Jesse just smiled, then looked at her fondly. "You know, back when you said you were considering going back to college, I had doubts, even though I said you would make the right decision on your own."

"Part of that was you wanted to be on stage with me every night," she teased, and he laughed.

"Yeah, I did. But seeing you now, absorbing what Welland told you and being so excited, I'm sure you made the right choice. That enthusiasm kind of turns me on, actually."

"What he said resonated with me. I almost felt like he had made Liza and Henry in Giulia's and his image."

"And the fact he and Giulia had fallen in love so young, that must have struck a chord within you."

Rachel stared at him. Jesse had said it easily, without a trace of envy or hurt. He had come to absolute peace with her past, which only reinforced what she had been feeling for some time: his love for her came from a pure place. It was safe to let him into her heart. And she felt no residual sadness, only the kernel of a love she had not expected to ever feel for anyone again.

"You will never know how much what you just said means to me." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "But I'll try and show you."


	13. Chapter 13

The first few run-throughs were rough, intended only to make sure they had memorized the lines. Rachel appreciated how thoroughly professional Norman was. He was on time, and prepared to work. Satisfied that the lines were now second nature, they started planning the physical choreography of the scene, working out marks and movements. It was strange to have to do all of it themselves; Rachel made Norman laugh by saying they deserved double credit for having to act as directors as well as actors.

This took a couple of days. When it was time to plug the characters into the scene, Norman asked Anne if she would sit in on one session, and Jesse volunteered to drop by another day, so that they had someone to make sure they didn't flub the lines.

Rachel felt a peculiar thrill the first time she saw Norman become Henry. It was immediately obvious why Jenkins considered him the best actor in the class: Norman completely disappeared, replaced by a middle-aged English aristocrat, completely at ease now with his disability, leaning on his cane as if he had use it all his life. He topped it off with a perfect upper-class accent, and a love for Liza that had never really dimmed.

She immediately allowed her competitive nature take over, and astonished Anne and Norman with her transformation into the weary, bitter Liza, haunted by Spain and her own love for Henry. At the end, she had Liza utter her awful line with eyes brimming with tears, before turning and leaving him.

"Bergman couldn't have made that performance as bittersweet as you did just now," Norman said, clapping slowly. Anne just nodded.

Rachel blushed. "And your Henry...my God, I thought it would take an exorcism to get you back." But something bothered her. "I know the scene only calls for you to wait, standing alone at the end after Liza leaves the shelter, but I think it needs something more."

The next day, with Jesse looking on, it came to her. Right after she exited, Rachel rushed over to Norman as his Henry stood, transfixed, and with the index finger of her right hand, raised one side of his mouth into a faint half-smile.

"There," she said with an approving smile. "That's what was missing."

"What do you think, Jesse?" Norman asked.

Jesse didn't answer right away. Instead he glanced at Rachel, concern all over his face, but when he saw her smiling, broke into one himself. She could see that he recognized what she had done.

"It's perfect." He put down the script. "It's subtle. And it reveals something not about him so much, but about Liza." He turned to Rachel. "That was brilliant." Then he turned back to Norman. "It'll be more effective if you hold his original shocked, then devastated expression for a few beats, then let the smile appear, not abruptly, but not too slowly either. Make it feel like he had it inside all along, and that it has to struggle a little to get out"

Norman nodded, then laughed. "Hey Rachel, looks like we have a director after all."

She rushed over to Jesse, wrapped her arms around him, and purred sexily, "He's a man of many talents."

The next session Rachel and Norman worked alone, polishing up the lines and expressions. Both Jesse and Anne said they would come for the last rehearsal to make sure everything was just right and to give support. It was clear to both of them that they had something special. Norman said he'd never been so sure about a portrayal of a character before. Rachel agreed: Norman exemplified the old expression about disappearing into a character, and, as a bonus, wasn't an obnoxious method actor about it. As soon as the scene was done he was back to his pleasant, modest self again. She studied and learned from him, and during the rehearsal they were both lost to the rest of the world, so much so that they failed to notice the door being pushed open. It wasn't until the tittering began that they realized someone was there: Carmen Tibideaux was standing in the doorway, with a crowd of students behind her.

She held two envelopes in her hand.

Rachel waited to tell Jesse until after his performance, so as not to distract him, but she added a little Rachel Berryness by waiting outside the stage door with the fans, and shoved the envelope in his hand, as if it were a playbill. He laughed when he realized who she was, wrapping his arms around her and bending down for a congratulatory kiss that both titillated and disappointed everyone else watching. She waited until he was done signing to take his arm as they walked towards his car.

"Norman got an envelope too? Wow, a double-ring ceremony!" He slid in next to her. "So, you've had a few hours, what song are you going to sing?"

"I don't know. I'm having a hard time with something, and I need your advice." She snuggled close against him.

"Of course."

"After Carmen and the crowd left, we talked, and I think Norman should do the scene we've been working on from _The Moon Garden_."

"Why? Wouldn't that mean you'd have to prepare two performances for the same competition? Did he say anything?"

Rachel shook her head. "No, he didn't. But-" She pressed his arm."-he's so _good_ in this!"

"And what are you? Chopped liver?"

"Of course not." She chuckled. "I think it's the best acting I've ever done."

"So what are you trying to say?" He pulled her close, and she realized he actually knew what she wanted to do.

"I'm saying I want him to do _The Moon Garden_ scene which means me doing it as well, and I don't want him to feel we're competing against each other."

"What about a song?"

"You're right—I don't want to have to prepare two performances." She looked up at his face, faintly illuminated by the lights outside, and saw a gentle smile.

"You do realize most people would call this most un-Berry-like behavior," he said. "Santana would be taking your temperature and Kurt would be having the vapors." She started to laugh, but he cut it short by tipping her chin up and dropping his voice: "Finn would have understood."

She smiled through tears. "Yes. Yes. He would have." They rode in silence for a moment before she spoke again.

"He never talks to me. I talk to him, but he never answers back. I used to feel his presence, but I think that was just a product of my broken heart." She looked out the car window. "I depended on his advice." Then she turned and cradled Jesse's face in her hands. "Just like I need yours. You're my person, now."

XXXXXXxxxxxxx

"You want to _what_?"

Carmen Tibideaux rarely showed surprise-it wasn't dignified, in her opinion.

"I want to help Norman Masters with his Winter Showcase piece- we've been working together on a scene from _The Moon Garden_ for Professor Jenkins's class-"

"Yes, yes, I know." Carmen was impatient.

"-we got full credit." Jenkins almost never did that.

"I know that too." The Dean's expression eased a bit. "I have had him report everything to me regarding you."

"Well, did he say it was mostly due to Norman's Henry Vauxhall?"

"No, obviously he did not, or you wouldn't have received full credit."

Rachel looked down, blushing.

"I guess I just think Norman could win the showcase with his performance. But I'm not sure he could if he knew I was competing against him in the scene."

"And you aren't preparing a song?"

 _Good grief._ Everyone was having the same reaction. Rachel shook her head.

"I have to go all-in on one or the other, and without me, Norman can't do a scene like that with anybody else on such short notice."

Carmen sat back in her chair, giving her an I-can't believe-this-is-Rachel-Berry-talking look.

"And...I already have a Winter Showcase win."

"So you're giving up a chance to compete in the Winter Showcase this year?"

"Yes, Madam Tibideaux."

"After I spent all of that time on the calligraphy of your invitation?"

"I know, I know—I'm sorry-"

She was cut off by Carmen's laugh, deep and genuine.

"No, it's fine. Listen, Rachel, don't worry about offending me. I'm not that pompous. It's just not something I hear very often from a NYADA student."

Rachel laughed. "No, I suppose not."

"Does Mr Masters know about your decision?"

"He tried talking me out of it, but I convinced him that doing this scene would be a winning shot for him at the showcase, and that I didn't want it marred by competition between us."

"It's all about the art with you, isn't it?"

Surprised at hearing her own feelings echoed back so closely, Rachel realized that she and Tibideaux had far more in common than she had ever thought. She nodded.

"You've made excellent progress. The ridiculous attitude you had before is gone, and the reasons you have given me are honorable, so I'm going to approve your withdrawal from the competition."

"A lot of things are gone," Rachel said, and immediately wondered why she said that.

"True." Carmen understood her. She wrote something down. "There's going to be gossip about this, you understand, because I'm not going to explain it to anyone."

"Of course." She could face the consequences of her decisions so much better now. She felt strong.

And that felt good.

XXXxxxx

The Winter Showcase was held on a Friday night, and Rachel could not talk Jesse out of asking for the night off to attend.

"Passing up a chance of seeing Rachel Berry perform? What a ridiculous notion!"

"But the show-" She was still worried about the protests. She knew he had a personal day written into his contract at the start, and one added for every eight weeks performing, so Jesse was within his rights to ask, but he was becoming very popular and, as the face of the show, his presence might be needed.

"I'm not missing this. Get used to it."

So she relaxed and threw herself into rehearsing with Norman, whose gratitude for her generosity was touching.

"I don't know I can repay you for this," he said.

"That's easy," she laughed, gaily. "Act the hell out of the scene and win the competition." And, since she knew he came from a monied family in Connecticut, she winked and said: "And a case of The Macallan 21-year-old scotch."

"That's all?" He was serious, and she laughed harder, leaning on his shoulder.

"I was kidding. Just a bottle will do."

The night of the performance, Rachel wore a black gown Jesse had surprised her with the night before.

"I'm glad you two aren't doing this in costume", he said, looking dapper in a black, custom-fitted suit she had picked out for him one Monday, window-shopping in Manhattan. As they sat next to Norman and Anne, Professor Jenkins came up and wished them luck.

"I have a surprise for you afterwards," he said, with a mysterious look. "And I want you both to know how proud I am you chose this piece to perform." Then he disappeared.

Students sang, and danced, and Norman and Rachel ended up at the tail end of the roster. On the staircase outside, they calmed each other by telling bad jokes. And then it was time.

Carmen introduced them:

"The next performance is by sophomore acting student Norman Masters, assisted by Rachel Berry. It is the last scene from the Pulitzer-winning play, _The Moon Garden_ , by David Welland." She looked down at her notes, and gave a brief synopsis of the plot, then added, "The last scene takes place twenty years later, as Henry and Liza meet again by accident in a London bomb shelter during the Blitz."

The experience of performing a play in front of an audience was completely different than performing a musical number. Performing music left little chance of hearing an audience during the number—other than the cheering, or the applause at the end. But performing the scene Rachel could hear the squeaks of chairs, the coughs, and the throat clearing. She refused to let that distract her, however. Instead, she embraced the intimacy of it as she and Norman _became_ Liza Pennington and Henry Vauxhall.

The power of Welland's writing emerged through them, as the crushing, destructive legacy of World War One was distilled down to its effect on just two broken people. Rachel tapped into her grief for Finn, giving Liza's bitterness over the loss of her husband vivid life, and the memory of every taunt she ever received in high school welled up to fuel Liza's class rage. Her ferocious performance didn't unnerve Norman, however. He fed upon it with relish, as Henry, barely enduring Liza's fury, retreats into the class privilege he has allowed himself to embrace. The two characters faced each other, chests heaving, as Liza almost spits out the last line, and then leaves. Rachel could feel the collective shock of the audience's silence: not a cough or sniffle, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for someone to break, for Liza to return or for Henry to rush after her. Surely their love wasn't over. Not like that. Instead, they see Henry, frozen, in shock for a few beats. Almost imperceptibly, the half-smile began to emerge, held for just a second. And then it was over. From the edge of the stage, Rachel watched Norman straighten up to face the audience, and the applause slowly began, because the power of the scene still burned in their brains for a moment, rendering them silent, then built into a roar of approval. Norman didn't bow. Instead he looked to her and held out his hand, and the two of them bowed together.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" she said in his ear, as the applause continued. He kissed her cheek in response, and the roar increased. Rachel could see Carmen smiling as she worked on a scoring paper, and Jesse and Anne, standing and whooping. They bowed again.

A thirty-minute intermission was called to enable the faculty to vote. Refreshments were set up in another room, and Rachel , Jesse, Norman and Anne wandered in. Jesse and Anne volunteered to get some punch so Norman and Rachel could talk with well-wishers and other contestants. They were still in line at the table when Professor Jenkins came up with two people Rachel didn't recognize: a tall, wiry man in a black suit and tie, with silver hair, short cropped beard and wire-rim glasses, and a small, lean, dark-haired woman in a saffron off-the shoulder dress.

"Rachel Berry and Norman Masters, I'd like you to meet Giulia DeMarco and Dave Welland."

Norman nearly passed out, so Rachel, drawing on her experience like a pro, gave him a chance to recover by stepping forward and shaking Welland's hand.

"It was an honor to learn and perform your work," she said.

"The honor's mine," Welland said. "You both did an excellent job." Norman, who had recovered, shook Welland's hand as Rachel reached out to Giulia.

"Davide (she pronounced it DAH-Viday) kept saying how wonderful your Liza was, Rachel." Giulia's voice was low, slightly nasal, and her grip was strong. She looked tanned and very, very fit for her age. Late fifties, early sixties, Rachel guessed. With her hair pulled back in an elegant braid, Rachel was struck by her cheekbones and Roman nose, slightly bent, as if it had been broken in the past. Intelligent, almost black eyes held her in a warm gaze. "I thought so, too."

She turned to Welland. "Davide, tell them what you told me." Then she shook Norman's hand.

Welland's eyes were blue, not as intense as Giulia's, but radiating the same intelligence and warmth.

"I told her that both of you showed me things about the characters—about the play itself, actually—that I hadn't seen before." He smiled as Norman and Rachel both blushed. "Its a different experience for me. Giulia and I are novelists, and we don't get to have our eyes opened over our own work very often. Usually it happens in a cogent review in a newspaper or journal somewhere. Seeing it in a theatrical setting is much more satisfying." He turned to Jenkins. "Thanks for inviting us, Roy."

They chatted about the play, and Rachel enjoyed watching Norman having the time of his life. After Jesse and Anne returned, she appreciated how interested Giulia and Dave were with Jesse's play and Anne's singing. And she couldn't help but notice the way Dave and Giulia kept looking at each other. It warmed her heart to know they had loved each other for so long, despite being separated for thirty years. There was something epic about that.

The conversation was interrupted by the announcement that the voting was complete, so they moved back into the auditorium, staying together.

"Dave and Giulia want to take all of you out for some real food afterwards," Jenkins told them.

"Even if we don't win?" Norman asked, and everyone laughed.

"Even if _you_ don't win," Rachel gently corrected him. His and Anne's looks of gratitude made it all worth it, she thought.

And when Norman did win, Rachel caught Carmen's eye for a moment, and saw not only the pride all teachers feel when their students succeed, but something more—a professional respect Rachel hadn't felt in some time.

Jesse insisted that the shell-shocked Norman and Anne ride along with them in his car to dinner. Rachel snuggled close to him, and not just to make room for the others. She felt his pride in her coming from every pore.

This dinner was going to be great.


	14. Chapter 14

They had dinner at an elegant Australian restaurant Giulia recommended.

"I lived in Melbourne for ten years when I was married, and for twenty years near Perth, Western Australia, after the divorce," she said, but didn't elaborate.

Rachel sat next to Dave and across from Giulia. She decided to try the crispy tofu, with sweet & sour eggplant, salted cucumber, and mountain pepper berry, on Giulia's recommendation. Anne, who proved to have the most adventurous palate, ordered the p **eppered kangaroo loin with** **r** oast beets, greens and horseradish. Jesse and Dave, along with Jenkins' wife Mary ordered the grilled lamb cutlets, and Norman and Jenkins went completely native with the lamb shepherd's pie. A couple of bottles of Australian Pinot Noir washed everything down, although they soon found out both Dave and Giulia preferred decent beer.

The conversation was as elegant and rich as the meal. Dave and Giulia were eager to discuss Norman and Rachel's thinking over their performance, and what they did to prepare for it. Dave was fascinated by Norman's explanation that he didn't really draw on anything to play Henry.

"I'm not sure where it came from," he said. "I never do."

Rachel glanced over at Professor Jenkins, who winked back. Norman was just one of those rare natural actors.

"What did you do to prepare, Rachel?" Giulia asked.

"I don't have a system," she said, "But I did try to look inside myself, you know, to find a memory or feeling that could help me relate to Liza as a character. "She looked at Jenkins again. "As you taught us."

"And did you find some?" Giulia's face was kind, as if she knew the answer already, and Rachel thought she saw a hidden sadness behind those black, almost unreadable eyes.

"A few." She felt Jesse squeeze her hand under the table, and wondered why she had never realized how empathetic he was. Maybe she had been too selfish then to see it.

Dave turned to her. "Well, what you did find worked. You truly brought her to life."

Rachel blushed, and the conversation moved to Jesse- Dave was curious how he prepared for his role.

"Is it harder to get into a character when you have all of the music and dancing to handle as well?"

Jesse smiled. "It's not that different, really. You still have to infuse the music with the character as well. Right?" He looked at her. She adored how he sought her opinion.

"Right. However, you do have to know how to translate joy or sadness into motion, or how to modulate your voice." Rachel paused for a moment, thinking, then added: "It can be more technical, and sometimes requires very specific training."

"As in ballet?" Giulia asked, and Rachel nodded. So did Anne, and Giulia turned to her. "You said you're studying to be an opera singer. I bet that training is similar as well." Anne nodded, delighted to be consulted. Rachel loved her humble attitude, despite a ferocious vocal talent. The two of them had taken part in some high note contests, and although Rachel could hit the same notes as Anne could, she didn't have the prodigious flexibility and control Anne possessed.

"It's harder in more established operas, like _Don Giovanni,_ for example _,_ to find a new take on a character," Anne said. "Fortunately, there are a lot of neglected operas, like Blomdahl's _Aniara_ , where the opportunities for new interpretations are better."

She went on to say she was going to audition for a revival production of _Aniara,_ and was delighted when Dave said he was familiar with it. 

"Which part?"

"The Blind Poetess", Anne replied, and Dave clapped his hands. "Excellent!"

Anne was impressed. "Not many people have ever heard of _Aniara_."

Giulia chuckled. "It's pretty obscure. Being written in Swedish didn't help either, I suppose. Davide has an old recording of it on vinyl that he showed me when we were in high school."

"Well, I am a science fiction writer, and this was the first science fiction opera," Dave pointed out.

"Nerd", Giulia mouthed, pointing to him, to laughter.

Rachel had dreamed about New York being like this, with witty, intellectual banter about art, but this was better than she ever imagined. As they settled into the meal, she wanted to know something.

"Mr Welland, how did you come to choose the language of the play?"

Dave gave her a mischievous look. "Lots of rewriting." Giulia rolled her eyes and laughed. Then he said, "And please—call me Dave."

"Okay..." Rachel chuckled. "But how did you settle on its final form? When did you know you were done?"

He thought for a moment, but Rachel could tell he appreciated the question.

"Well, for one thing, the dialogue had to sound natural. I would read each draft aloud to Giulia, and when it sounded real, we left it in." Giulia nodded. "But the most important thing was, the dialogue had to reveal truths about the character. It wasn't enough for Liza to grieve for her husband—she also had to be enraged, and somehow that had to be expressed at the same time. Sure, a lot of that could be left to the actors to interpret, but the dialogue had to..." He reached for the right word. "...s _upport_ all of the underlying emotion. They had to match or the play wouldn't sound sincere." Everyone was nodding.

He stopped. Rachel could see something else in his eyes, something complex.

"Actually, Rachel, I don't think I answered your question." Giulia gave him a quizzical look. "I'm sorry that my first reaction was so flip."

It was then that Rachel realized he was gazing at her intently.

"What you really wanted to know was where the language came from. Am I right?"

At first she felt intimidated, thinking she may have asked something too personal of him.

"Yes," she said, her voice wavering somewhat. "I'm sorry-"

She needn't have worried. There was kindness in those blue eyes, despite an underlying sadness she hadn't noticed before, similar to that in Giulia's expression.

"I wrote _The Moon Garden_ a few years after I lost my wife, Nell, and soon after I had reconnected with Giulia. Joy and sorrow. That's a very fertile state of mind for writing."

"How long were you married?" Rachel asked.

"Twenty-eight years."

"Wow." She gave him a sympathetic look, and then realized he was still watching her closely.

"You've lost someone close, haven't you?"

Rachel nodded. "My _fiancé_ , Finn. He died right after I was cast for _Funny Girl."_

He patted her arm. "You werevery young to have to endure something like that."

Giulia, realizing Dave and Rachel might need some space to talk about that experience, engaged the others in a different conversation.

"You let your loss inform your performance, didn't you?" Dave had turned towards her and dropped his voice.

"Yes. And I could sense, reading your play, that you had done the same thing. Especially when Liza tells Henry about the dreams she has of her husband."

"Ah, the dreams. Yes. Thank goodness they got less frequent. Even the good ones, because it was hard waking up to reality, you know?" Rachel winced, remembering. "And all the myriad little things, like songs." His expression became distant, almost dreamy. Then he was back. "Do you know the song by the Talking Heads, 'This Must Be the Place'?"

"Of course."

"Nell loved that song, and liked dancing around the kitchen singing to it as we cooked. She would shimmy in front of me at the line about me loving her 'til her heart stopped-" He paused, and Rachel's own heart broke seeing his open, honest sorrow. "I can't listen to that song anymore."

"I can't listen to Journey's 'Faithfully' for the same reason." _His smile. The one she would never see again._ "We performed that song together seconds after Finn said he loved me for the first time."

They watched the others, in a spirited discussion about Norman's performance. Giulia had a direct, very animated way of speaking, emphasizing points with her hands.

Rachel watched Dave gaze at her. She wondered what it must have been like when they met again after being apart for so long. He noticed Rachel looking at him.

"Giulia and I learned to write together; there's an element of her in all of my work. She says the same thing about me. That remained true even when we thought we didn't love each other anymore." He smiled, serene now. "There are days when I cannot believe we found each other again..."

It was as if he had been reading her mind the last two years.

Rachel glanced over at Jesse, who was listening to Giulia talk about post-war Britain. Hadn't they found each other again? The parallels weren't perfect, true, but still…He caught her eye and smiled. She smiled back.

By this time the wine had loosened everyone up. Giulia was talking about her ex-husband's work. He was the Australian novelist Tim Bellows, and she was discussing how different his writing was from Dave's.

"He writes about life on the remote outback cattle stations near Darwin, in the north of Australia." She spoke of him with respect and affection, despite having been divorced for twenty years. Rachel adored the contrast of her tanned, still-smooth skin with the saffron of her dress. The wine seemed to bring out traces of Australian in her accent.

"Was your wife a writer?" Rachel asked. She somehow felt she could ask him this, and he smiled, shaking his head.

"Nell was a middle-school teacher, Communication Arts."

"Finn was studying to be a music teacher." She said it in almost a whisper, and he put his arm around her shoulder.

"Teachers are a special kind of people." The hug was warm and sincere. "They are compassionate and easy to love." Then he looked at her directly again. "And that makes them hard to let go."

She let what he said sink in, deep. The parallels between Dave and Giulia with her and Finn were now so clear.

"I'm glad I met you," she said. "This whole experience has enriched me more than you will ever know."

Later that night, in her bed with Jesse, she mentioned the parallels.

"He even confirmed what Marge had told me, about the dreams."

"You've never told me much about the dreams," Jesse said. But now, with her head on his chest, it felt natural.

"Some of them were awful, like the one when I saw Finn a room and when I rushed up, overjoyed, he didn't recognize me at all." Jesse pulled her closer in response. "And many left me horribly sad when I woke up. One of the recurring dreams was the best—and the worst." She rubbed her hand in circles on his chest. "I dreamed I had not gotten into NYADA, and Finn and I just said 'Fuck it', and packed everything in his truck after graduation, and drove to New York. We got crappy jobs, and I went on auditions but couldn't get any Broadway parts. Instead, I began writing songs with Finn and we got into Queens College. We even formed a band, called Finchel."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"No, but when I woke up I was heartbroken, because that would have been wonderful. So was the one where we lived on a beach somewhere and had a son."

"Do you still have them?"

"No. And this is the thing." She raised up on one elbow. "When I wake up now, I don't grieve for what I have lost. I'm grateful, instead, for what I have found."

She kissed Jesse then, because he had also given her the strength to live in a post-Finn world. Her life was again on an upward track. She thought of Dave and Giulia and the rediscovery of their artistic partnership, and looked forward to what she and Jesse had been building so tentatively. She thought about what Dave had said about teachers, remembering that Marge's Nigel had been a teacher, too, and when Rachel prayed for Finn's soul that night, she felt herself let him go, yet still safe within her memory.

And in the morning she didn't remember the dream.

 _Penn Station was crowded, even at midnight. It was almost time for his train. People kept bustling around them, and she was unable to speak. All she could do was look at him, so tall and beautiful in her eyes, with his old polo shirt, jeans, and those ridiculously big sneakers._

 _And she waved._

 _He stood, framed in in the train's door, almost having to duck his head, which made her want to laugh. He looked happy. Happy for her. Don't worry about me, he had told her when she said goodbye. The train started to pull away, but he didn't duck inside just yet._

 _Not before she saw him mouth the words, "Break a leg."_


	15. Chapter 15

"You're looking well, Daddy."

Hiram Berry sat across the table and tried to smile for his daughter. "Thanks," he said, though she could see an underlying sadness in him. She heard the same sadness in her Papa's voice when they talked on the phone.

They talked about his work—Hiram was an architect, and was in town to talk to the editors of _The Architectural Review_ about the possibility of writing a monthly column for them.

"They thought their readers might like a column on sustainable architecture, and my name came up on a short list of candidates."

"Oh my God, that's fantastic!" Rachel enthused. "I'm so proud of you."

Of her two parents, Hiram had always been the more complex, with a sharp, witty intelligence and an exaggerated, theatrical manner. Her Papa, equally intelligent, was the quiet, reserved one. She had always thought they balanced each other's differences out perfectly, and were one when it came to their love of musical theater-and her.

She saw that love in his eyes, how it overrode his personal sadness.

"As I'm proud of you." He looked down for a moment before adding, "As we are proud of you."

"Daddy," she asked, "Is it okay if we talk about you and Papa?" He had only reiterated to her, in a phone conversation, what Papa had told her. She noticed he hadn't touched his food, but was already on a second glass of wine. He was unable to look her in the eyes now. As if he were ashamed. But he seemed to find some inner resolve, and raised his gaze.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why did you leave Papa?"

The question seemed to catch him off-guard.

"Is that what he told you? That I left?"

"No. He was too sad to say much of anything. All I know is, when I got home, he was there, and you weren't."

Rachel tried not to sound accusatory, but the heartbreak in her voice, the heartbreak of a child whose life has been torn apart by divorce, couldn't be suppressed. And her father's anguished reaction made her wish she hadn't said it. The two of them sat there for a moment, miserable. She spoke again.

"Papa never said anything bad about you. He loves you. I love you."

Her Daddy was hurting; she could see it. And all she wanted to do at that moment was to go around the table and hug him.

"I love you, too. And I love your Papa." He swallowed.

"Then why aren't you with him?" Rachel beseeched. "What's keeping you apart?"

She half-expected him to dance around it, or say something about it being complicated. But she was an adult now, and deserved better. At least she knew it wasn't over another man; there was no evidence of _that_ behind his pained eyes.

"We failed you," he said, reaching across the table to grab her hands. "We had spent our lives preparing you for New York and the stage. Without realizing it, we lost sight of what should have been your happiness, not ours. And when things began to unravel for you, your Papa and I faced a very unpleasant truth: we hadn't been proper parents. We had been cheerleaders."

"I don't understand."

"Instead of making sure you took pride in your decisions, we should have been helping you make ones to be proud of in the first place." His face dropped.

So _that's_ what it had been. Rachel felt almost infinite relief. For the first time since hearing of this, she felt she could influence the outcome.

" _Daddy_." Her voice was firm. "Look at me. No, look at me".

Her father raised his head.

"I'm fine. I made some mistakes, yes, but I've found resilience within me I never knew I had. Loving Finn helped me find some of it; Jesse has helped too. But you and Papa's love and devotion to each other, and your love for me did the rest. I could never have accomplished what I've done and what I'm determined to do without the grit you instilled in me." She looked him in the eyes and took his hands this time. "You cannot blame yourselves for this." And when tears appeared in his eyes, she softened. "Please come to Thanksgiving next week."

Hiram looked dubious, but she thought she could see hope. "Will your Papa let me come?" he asked, and she cried, too. "I'm sure he will. Knowing him, he will set a place for you, regardless."

He told her he wished Jesse could be there with her on Thanksgiving, and she smiled.

"No, but he sends his best wishes."

On his last night in New York, Hiram Berry saw Jesse's show with Rachel, and they met him for drinks afterwards. And the next day Jesse and Rachel picked him up and drove him to the airport.

"Please come to Lima for Thanksgiving, Daddy," she whispered, kissing his cheek.

"I'll think about it. I promise."

Rachel flew home on the Monday before Thanksgiving with Kurt and Blaine, after spending the night at Jesse's place.

"Remember my car," Jesse had said, and she chuckled, promising that she wouldn't forget. And when he took her to the airport ("Can't let this other car resource go to waste"), she felt a tug, a reluctance to leave him here in the city. She wondered about that to Kurt and Blaine on the trip home.

"I've grown used to talking about stuff with him after his shows," she told them, then added, with a naughty grin, "And I like sleeping with him."

Once she had gotten used to sleeping with someone regularly (even if that happened to have been Brody, not Finn), where she enjoyed not only receiving the warmth and physical proximity, but also giving it as well, Rachel appreciated how much it contributed to her well-being. Despite all Brody's faults, once she cut him loose, she missed the feeling of safety at the end of the day, the prolonged human contact. She craved Finn all the more after that, and even though their phone conversations brought them closer together, she longed to have him in her bed at night, too. His death ended any possibility of that, along with her ever kissing his lips again, or singing together. All she had now were the memories. She had never enjoyed the pleasure of sleeping with him for more than one night; that's what made that recurring dream of living with him in New York so wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time. She hoped what she had now with Jesse could lift some of the desolation she had been carrying for so long.

She wanted to give to him what Finn had given to her.

"I miss Jesse already," she admitted, and Kurt gave her this warm look, because both of them knew the significance of that.

Burt and Carole met them at the airport, saying that they had called her Papa and offered to bring her home so he could finish up dinner for the two of them.

"You're still invited over for dessert on Thursday, " Carole said, hugging her.

"Thank you so much. We're looking forward to it."

At her Papa's new house, he hugged her tighter than she thought she had ever been hugged. She could tell he was excited.

"I love you too, Papa. What's going on?"

"An opportunity has come up. But let's talk over dinner."

As she sat down with him, the unfamiliarity of the place struck her. There was none of her Daddy's elegant touch, and some of the pictures of her that used to be on the walls of the old house were missing.

"We split up the pictures, baby. I'm sorry." He seemed more resigned than sad.

"I talked over dinner with Daddy a few days ago." LeRoy's eybrows arched.

"Oh? Did he come specifically to see you, or did he also have business in New York?"

"Both." She paused, wondering if she should mention it, but decided to do so anyway: "I asked him to come to Thanksgiving here, if that's okay with you."

A strange expression came over his face. A mixture of sadness and something else-she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"What did he say?"

"He wasn't sure if you'd want him here. He said he'd think about it"

LeRoy closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. At first Rachel thought he was going to say no, but he delighted her with a faint smile.

"We can set a place for him, regardless. What do you say?"

She came around the table and hugged him.

"Daddy loves you. He told me. And I told him that I'm fine, and owe so much of who I am to the two of you." Tears were running down her Papa's cheeks. "You had nothing to be ashamed of. Our little family was the best thing about my life."

He reached up with his hand to rest on her shoulder.

"Then you're really going to love my news."

She sat back down.

"Okay—tell me."

"Remember my old law school roommate, Logan Carmichael, who visited us every now and then?"

"Sure. He used to bring me Broadway Playbills."

LeRoy laughed. "Yep. He runs a small but successful patent law office in New York. He called me last week to say his partner in the firm is retiring next year, and that they had been discussing an expansion of the firm's business—into agricultural patents."

"Wait—that's your specialty!" Leroy and his three associates handled patent work for seed companies, which was becoming big business in the Midwest, but never enough to provide enough capital for his firm to expand much.

"Yes. And he said none of the associates in his firm have any expertise in it- so he offered the partnership to me."

"So...does that mean you'd be living in New York?" Rachel's hands few to her face in surprise in delight when he nodded.

"And I get to bring my associates along as well. We'll need them, because we're going to expand into the world agricultural markets."

This was almost too good to be true.

"You're right, Papa." She raised her wine glass. "I love the news!"

When she went to bed that night, Rachel prayed her Daddy would show up and make this holiday perfect.

The next day, after sleeping in a bit, and after her dad left for the office, Rachel spent some time cleaning and then took a taxi to Jesse's house so she could pick up his car.

Leanne St James opened the door. Even at home she looked elegant in a sweater and jeans. Rachel could see Jesse in her face. She beamed.

"Come in!" And she gave Rachel an unexpected hug. "Would you like some coffee? I just made it."

"Thank you, I'd love some."

Jesse's house was large and spacious, as she remembered from the time she had been there before. He had told her that his mother did the decorating herself. Looking around, Rachel was impressed. Leanne's taste was elegant, but not ostentatious. There were warm colors, and the furniture looked comfortable and welcoming. She sat on the couch and his mother brought in a tray with some cake slices and the coffee.

"Thanks for taking time off from work for me, "Rachel said. Leanne owned an art gallery in town. She had been a graduate student in Art History at Ohio State when she met Jesse's father, Don, who was working on an MBA. He was a regional manager for the John Deere farm machinery company. Jesse liked to joke about his parents, but Rachel knew he loved and respected them.

"Thanksgiving week is usually dead,' she said. "But it will pick up right after. So I could use the relaxation. We all appreciate you driving his car back."

"My pleasure," Rachel said. The two women sat for a moment in silence.

"It's funny," Leanne said finally, "You and Jesse have known each other for so long, yet this is the first real conversation you and I have ever had."

"I know. But our relationship _has_ been complicated."

Leanne laughed easily. "True, true..." She poured the coffee and offered Rachel a plate with some cake. "But there is something you need to know, if he hasn't told you already: Jesse has loved you for a long time. And for much of that time he was convinced he was fated to always love you from afar."

"Yes. He told me."

"I can tell you something else. Before he met you we were so worried about what Vocal Adrenaline was doing to him that we considered moving away." She looked anguished when she said it. "It was like a cult, Rachel. We even complained about it to Carmel High's administration. But all that bunch of cold-eyed fascists saw was money. And Jesse had bought it into it." Her voice softened. "But after he met you, he began to change. Not overnight, obviously… " . Did she know about the egging? Rachel wondered, but said nothing. "He did talk about you a lot. We had never heard him speak about anyone with such respect." Leanne reached out and took Rachel's hand.

"Even after he betrayed you."

Rachel dropped her head as the humiliation of the parking lot came flooding back.

"Did he tell you what happened at UCLA?" Rachel nodded. "I bet he didn't tell you that, near the end, he called us, saying he wished he hadn't lost you, because you wouldn't have put up with his academic slacking."

'No, he didn't." She smiled at Leanne, because these revelations only reinforced her trust in Jesse's feelings for her. It made giving her heart to him easier. She wished he was with her right then.

"I guess what I really want to say is, you're good for him. We think he is at his best when you are in his life, and we hope he is as good for you."

Given the last few months, Rachel thought, she had to agree.

 **A/N: Happy Holidays to all! Reviews are welcome!**


	16. Chapter 16

Rachel watched her Papa carefully on Thanksgiving Day, helping with dinner, and making sure he had a few cocktails as they worked. He seemed to be in good spirits, but resigned to the possibility that Daddy wouldn't show. She made sure to keep him occupied by singing classic Broadway duets together; his rich tenor perfectly complimented her voice. They were about to sit down to dinner when a car pulled up outside.

"Stay there," she ordered, and went to the door. It was him. "It's Daddy!" she whispered, and her Papa almost broke down, but regained his composure.

"I'm okay," he told her. "Let him in."

Hiram Berry let his daughter usher him into the dining room, but he stood stock still when he saw LeRoy, standing by the turkey. He presented the magnum of Verve Cliquot champagne he had brought, holding it in front of him.

"Happy Thanksgiving, LeRoy," he said.

LeRoy eyed the huge bottle- Rachel knew her Daddy knew her Papa loved Verve Cliquot. His expression was guarded at first, but when he saw his own misery reflected back in Hiram's eyes, his look softened.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Hiram." Without taking his eyes from Hiram, he asked, "Rachel, could you please get us some glasses?"

The tension seemed to break somewhat when they gave their traditional Berry Thanksgiving toast. Even when Rachel was little, she was allowed a tiny sip of champagne for the toast, because their little family had basically been everything to her for so long, and this holiday, above all others, symbolized their unity. And when they sat down to dinner, her Papa insisted Hiram carve the turkey, because that had always been his role. Rachel even took some turkey; she wanted solidarity among them. She wanted them to share everything.

The talk was not about the divorce. It was about sharing the good news about their careers, and school, and music in general and Jesse. And when it was time for Rachel to leave for Burt and Carole's, she could tell her parents wanted to spend some time alone.

That was something she was glad to give them. Driving over, she felt hope. The thought all three of them may end up in New York together brought a smile to her face.

Burt answered the door and hugged her tightly. "Happy Thanksgiving!" Then he looked at the little white bakery bag she carried.

"These are kosher cookies from the Jewish bakery we like," Rachel said.

"You mean the ones Finn could never get enough of?" Her heart soared.

"I'm so glad you remembered."

"Come in, come in," Burt said. He led her through the still-familiar house, past Finn's graduation portrait hanging in the hallway, and into the dining room, where Carole , Blaine and Kurt were clearing plates to make way for dessert. They all hugged, especially Carole.

"I'm so glad you came, dear," she said, and smiled when she looked inside Rachel's bag. "Let me get a plate for them."

There were two pies, a yellow cake, and a pot of coffee. Blaine and Burt took a couple of plates with a little of everything and some coffee into the living room, where a football game was on. Rachel sat at the table with Carole and Kurt, and she filled them in on her dads, to which Carole got up and hugged her again.

"I hope it works out, Rachel," she murmured.

"Me too," said Kurt. "I love both of them to death."

She had thought it would have been harder to be here than it actually was. The reason was obvious—she loved all of these people deeply, and to be together with them eased the pain of Finn's absence. And, she realized suddenly, Jesse's impact on her life, how he had helped relieve the soul-crushing loneliness, also lessened the ache. So she spent a lovely late afternoon with her friends.

However, as she got ready to leave, Carole took her aside. She had a wonderfully serene look on her face.

"I have something for you," she said.

"Not more dessert? I've had two helpings already!"

Carole laughed. "Follow me." Rachel followed her up the stairs, to Finn's room, and she froze at the door.

"No, no, Rachel, this is good," Carole assured her.

Much to her relief, the room was not a shrine. In fact, it looked more like a tidy guest room. The only reference to Finn was the picture of him and her at Nationals, at the finale of "Paradise By The Dashboard Light." The sight of it made her choke up.

"I know. It makes me cry every time I look at it." Carole's voice was kind. "But it will remain here as long as we own the place."

Rachel smiled through the tears. "So what is it you have for me?"

Carole went the closet, reached up on a shelf, and turned to Rachel with a wooden box. The wood looked like cedar. She sat on Finn's bed and patted the space beside her. Rachel sat and took the box. It didn't feel heavy, but there was something obviously inside. She sniffed it—definitely cedar—and remembered Finn had made this box in wood shop in high school. She fondly remembered how he joked about it being his "stash box".

"I don't know how I missed this when we went through all of his things," Carole said, looking distressed, "But when I looked inside…"

The lid slid smoothly off the box. It was lined in midnight blue velvet, and the first thing she saw was the snow globe.

"So that's where it's been, all this time," she whispered. "Finn bought it in New York for Nationals, and—". It was impossible to hold back the sobs now. "I always wondered what happened to it." She shook it as she cried, watching the flakes swirl around the plastic New York skyline, the skyline he would never see again. She cried because buying the little kitschy snow globe was so like him, sweet and unpretentious, and because he had been holding it when he said he loved her and that he would have done or given anything just to kiss her one more time.

But then she noticed the other item in the box.

It was a spiral notebook, with "New York Stuff" written across its yellow cover. Inside were notes, written more neatly than usual for him—he must have thought these very important—listing tasks for applying to New York graduate schools: addresses, names, costs, requirements, etc. He bore down hard with his pen on "Get Letters of Recommendation".

She couldn't stop the tears, and didn't care if Carole was there, because she wasn't sad. All that mattered was he had been planning on coming to New York; somehow his love for her had overcome his crippling self doubt. She turned that one fact over in her mind: he had been planning on coming back to her. Turning a page, she laughed even as the tears flowed. There was a section on him surprising her with the news in person. Item number one on the list: "Buy Flowers", with a sublist of types of flowers and a note wondering if he had given her tulips too many times.

"Did you know he was planning this?"

Carole shook her head. "No." and she cried, too: "It was his secret project."

They hugged each other on the bed, missing him.

It was dark when Rachel drove home. She passed the cemetery and said a prayer for him, the beautiful Hebrew prayer her rabbi had given her, only this time she was filled with warmth and happiness. She had known knew Finn better than anyone, and one of her biggest regrets had been not being able to convince Finn how talented and intelligent he was. She knew his decision to stay in Lima was not because he loved the place; it was because he didn't think he was good enough to leave. But now, Rachel understood just how much he meant what he had said about loving her, and she gratefully amended the happy-ever-after scenario she had painted for Will Shuester. She could tuck it away in her heart, in the place reserved for him, forever, content in the knowledge that they had both saved each other from the worst of themselves.

Her Daddy's car was still outside the house when she pulled into the driveway. He and her Papa were still visible at the dining room table, the magnum of champagne between them, actually laughing together.

This holiday could not be more perfect, she started to think, but stopped. Rachel got out of the car and checked her watch: Jesse was about half-way through his performance. The air was crisp and cold, and stars shone brightly above her head. Just thinking about his energy onstage warmed her, and she wanted, more than ever at that moment, to be on that stage with him. Jesse understood her, just like Finn. And he wanted everything for her as much as himself—when he said he wanted to conquer New York with her, he meant it. Rachel knew a small part of her had not quite been able to accept that any man might want her than much. But now, knowing what Finn had actually been thinking, and how Jesse's respect and love for her was pure, Rachel decided this Thanksgiving was probably the most significant of her life. She took out her phone and dialed his number, letting it go to voicemail and smiled, thinking of him hearing this after his performance.

"Hi baby," she said, "I'm just feeling truly thankful right now, and a lot of that is due to you. So I couldn't let this holiday go by without saying I love you. And I want to conquer New York with you. See you soon."


	17. Chapter 17

_**A/N: This is a short chapter, hopefully to get fans of the story through these lean times (I've been working on writing and publishing work in the real world, and plead for your patience). There will be more to come—more slowly than I'd like, but I intend on finishing this (and A Richness at the Edge of the World). I'm grateful for your encouragement. Reviews, as always, are welcome.**_

They stood together on Bow Bridge, as the leaves drifted down off the trees into the glittering water, and ducks fluttered and swam and the people swirled around them. This was the city at its most beautiful, she thought, and the theatrical side of her made her feel like Winona Ryder in _Autumn in New York_. Only she wasn't dying, and Jesse wasn't Richard Gere, and autumn was no longer a metaphor for her life. Rachel now looked forward to the melting of the ice and the blooming of flowers and hope. It was time for a new metaphor. Time for a renascence.

Jesse seemed happily preoccupied, staring at the trees in the distance. She liked his expression. And she felt no need to explain the significance of this place for her, because it nestled in her heart without impinging on Jesse's place there. Every breath of the crisp air felt like freedom.

"Were you lonely in California?" she asked.

"Yes." He still looked at the trees, but she could see him processing the memories. "Being on the coast just reinforced my sense of failure—I was almost literally washed up. I had no money and few prospects, which didn't exactly make me a chick magnet. I mean, I got off work with stained clothes and smelling of coffee flavorings, for Christ's sake."

"It was the feeling of failure that was the worst," she agreed. "It took away much of the beauty of that coastline for me."

"We were only an 8-hour away from each other for a part of that time." He gave her a wink. "We could have consoled each other."

She smiled. "True. But I was an awful mess back then. I'm glad we found each other again the way we did, actually."

He reached out and pulled her close to him. She felt warm and safe.

"I've been reading the trades, Jesse. They say the protests are petering out. That's good. "

"Yeah. But the damage has been done. Our numbers aren't looking as good as everyone would like."

"They aren't closing the show are they?" She panicked for him. But he hugged her again.

"No, no. It's just not going to be the next _Cats_. And it's never going to get a Tony in any category."

"You're just ahead of your time," Rachel said, giggling, because she knew his reputation was good, despite the controversies. Fans still flocked outside the stage door, trying to press their panties into his hand when he signed playbills. And she loved the jealous looks they gave her whenever she waited for him outside. Even more, she adored how he rebuffed the more audacious fans gently, but firmly. Once she heard him tell a particularly gorgeous and persistent fan, "You're very beautiful, but my heart belongs to that woman over there," and pointed directly at Rachel. The fan glared at her.

"I was just thinking about what you said over the phone," he said, "You know, about conquering New York together."

"You started this kind of talk, remember?" She laughed, gaily, marveling at how good she felt, how light. And then it struck her—this was what it felt like when she had been in love before.

"I know. But it feels so much more attainable when I hear it from you, too."

She took his hand, then shook her head, smiling. Jesse raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"I don't know. I was going to make a joke about being a complicated woman, but then I thought, I _am_ complicated, at least, my life is. And yet here you are, still talking about us with such confidence and optimism, in spite of those complications. Do you have any idea how good that makes me feel?"

"I'll let you in on a little secret."

'Oh?" Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I used to think I was complex and mysterious, with deep thoughts about art and the world. But the truth is, I'm just a simple creature, especially when it comes to you. Even when Shelby was trying to get me to manipulate you, I ended up telling her that I liked you, and didn't want to see you hurt. It's been that way since I first heard you sing." He paused, and for a moment she thought she saw a tear in his eye. "It was true even when I didn't think I would ever be with you again, and when I cursed myself for driving you away. It wasn't complicated; it was pure. Simple, like I said."

"So us loving each other isn't as complicated and difficult as it may have appeared?" She gave him a little grin, and was rewarded with a smile.

"Exactly."

Rachel looked serenely out over the water. She could feel her energy rising. Being in love did that to her—it was an infallible sign. The feeling was almost indescribable—she didn't feel so… _wounded_ anymore.

"There's someone we will need to keep our eye on," she said, "someone who is going to help us achieve our goal."

"Who?"

This feeling had been gathering within her for some time now. It had nothing to do with being psychic. It was more a feeling of inevitability, not just of Jesse and her being lovers, but of being part of a general falling into place of many pieces: Jesse and her; his being cast in the same play she had been interested in; _Funny Girl_ and _That's So Rachel_ ; NYADA; Finn's wooden box. And meeting Emily Lauder and Tom Foley. The problems with _Urban Prophet_ were another. There may not have been much specificity to the feeling, but there was definitely an inevitability to it. She and Jesse needed to continue to hone their skills—hers at NYADA, and his on stage. And Urban Prophet wasn't good enough for that. Something bigger, more powerful and sophisticated, was needed to get Jesse to the next level. She had reached it with _Funny Girl_. And, as she had been pondering this on the bridge, it all came together.

"Tom Foley," she said, with Rachel Berry certainty.


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: I just realized I never did finish this story, and for those who have been following it, my apologies. I wanted it to be longer, but I will not have the time to fully explore all of the events leading to Rachel's marriage to Jesse and her subsequent Tony Award. So, I have decided instead to add a final chapter that I think gives the story closure. I hope you enjoy it, and best wishes to all of you. Reviews, as always, are welcome.**_

From behind, the mother and daughter sitting on the beach couldn't be distinguished. Each had the same petite build, with long dark hair in ponytails, and dressed in matching black one-piece swimsuits.

Rachel Berry smiled at that thought, and looked over at her daughter, Maddie. Even from the front, Maddie St James was almost a clone of her mother—the same nose, eyes and complexion, even a similar temperament. Jesse liked to joke about how people always assumed he was her stepfather. Rachel never knew if it bothered him or not; of course, the fact that their younger son Oliver looked exactly like him (except for the brown eyes) balanced it out, and made for interesting discussions with friends who had children with more blended looks.

"I missed eating real food, Mom," Maddie said. "Thanks for making my favorite." She had always loved Rachel's crab cakes, and constantly complained about the poor food they served at college in Vermont. That riled Rachel and Jesse. He liked to gripe that for the amount of money they had to shell out, the students should be eating like royalty.

It was a late afternoon, and still early June in the Hamptons, with a cool offshore breeze. Rachel loved that about the beach cottage they rented every year. Even at the height of the season, their stretch of beach managed to have relatively few visitors. Jesse often grumbled it was because of the jellyfish their spot seemed to attract. "They like you," she teased him. "I like you. So I can't really complain."

"Glad you liked them," she said. Before the children were born, they had spent a weekend on the Delaware shore, in a beach timeshare owned by mutual friends. Rachel tried crab cakes for the first time there, and left determined to learn the recipe. They were now a summer family tradition.

She watched a sad, fleeting look pass over Maddie's face.

"I'm sorry about Joe," she said.

Maddie sighed. "Thanks, Mom. I guess it's still a bit raw."

"Your dad's offer still stands, you know." She grinned, and was relieved to see Maddie laugh.

"I told him thanks, but the bastard wasn't worth going to prison for." Then Maddie shook her head. "He's such an emotional child. It's embarrassing to think I saw anything in him."

"You admired his talent," Rachel said, wrapping her arms around her knees. A sailboat passed the little point east of their part of the beach. "I can understand that." Like mother, like daughter, she thought. In high school Maddie had always gone for the talented, artsy types. But at least then she hadn't fallen hopelessly in love with any of them, and the breakups, for the most part, had been amicable. Probably because they admired her vocal chops as much as she admired their talent, Rachel thought.

"He thinks he's the new Neil Young," Maddie said with a snort. "Even my admiration didn't go that far."

Rachel suspected the attraction had been more than just artistic; both she and Jesse had seen Joe's picture, but she didn't bring that up. Maddie already seemed to be processing the reality of it well enough, and that's what was important.

It felt strange to remember breakups through her children. After all, she had been happily married for twenty-three years. The freshness of the pain was what surprised her—Rachel had expected some scar tissue to have developed. In the case of Brody, that was true—he was more of a scar she could rub instead of an open wound. But when it came to Finn…Oh Lord…the welling up of the old sadness… and the desolation she felt when he died…

She must have looked stricken because Maddie put her hand on her shoulder.

"Mom?" she asked gently. "Are you okay?" Rachel nodded. "I'll be fine, Mom. It's not like what happened to Oliver and Dani."

Oh _, Dani_. Rachel couldn't think about that girl and her son without crying, and not just because she had publically humiliated Oliver by loudly dumping him in the high school cafeteria, but also because it hurt to realize her son had richly deserved it.

Seventeen-year old Oliver St James had it all: tall and athletic, the star first baseman for the school's baseball team, and a scholar as well, especially in mathematics. Rachel had adored how his love of baseball had reignited Jesse's childhood passion for the game; the two of them attended every Yankees game they could. They were watching the Yankees play the Kansas City Royals in the city as she was sitting with Maddie on the beach. But there was a price to pay. Rachel and Jesse couldn't believe how crazy the girls at his school were for their son. They called at odd hours, and showed up unannounced at their home, dressed in outrageously revealing outfits, asking for him. Oliver, at first, seemed sweetly unaffected by the attention—he even asked his parents to run interference for him from them. But, in his sophomore year, the jock culture and the surging hormones resulted in him dating a few of them, and soon he had a reputation as a ladies' man. Jesse once remarked, in a mixture of dismay and awe, that Oliver got more action than he ever did with the members of Vocal Adrenaline.

Rachel didn't like the fact her son rarely talked about any of them, and they didn't seem to be a positive influence: she once overheard him on the phone with a team mate, complaining that the girls he seemed to attract were all interchangeable. She also didn't like what it was doing to his sense of decency. One night she and Jesse came home and found a pretty blonde sitting on their doorstep, crying because Oliver had made plans with her, then forgotten and gone to a party with someone else. Jesse was furious. He demanded Oliver honor his commitment and make it up to the poor girl. To his credit, Oliver was embarrassed and contrite, and even managed to patch it up with the girl enough for them to have been an item for a few weeks.

But then Dani happened.

She was a transfer from Southern California: tall, dark and lean, a pole vaulter hoping for a track and field scholarship to Stanford so she could study molecular biology. Dani could clear twelve-feet-six easily, and on the way to thirteen when she leaped ahead of the swarm of girls vying for Oliver's attention. "She has better abs than I do!" he marveled to his parents. She and Jesse loved the girl as well: intelligent and polite, and, unlike many of the typical girls Oliver seemed to date, comfortable in his parent's company. She also brought out the best in Oliver. With her he seemed kinder, more tender and solicitous.

Dani and Oliver soon became inseparable; at least, that was what Rachel and Jesse had thought. But the jock culture of the school, with its ruthless emphasis on competition, became Oliver and Dani's undoing. Several cheerleaders, all of whom had dated Oliver at one time or another—probably the inspiration for Oliver's "interchangeable" remark, Rachel thought bitterly—decided not to take Dani's favored status lying down. They carefully conspired with a cheerleader who hadn't been with Oliver before, a seemingly shy but gorgeous and ridiculously lean and fit blonde who had become infatuated with him too, and hatched a plan to lure him away from Dani. What bothered Rachel the most was that they succeeded—Oliver broke down and slept with the girl, and then the cheerleaders triggered the trap. In the cafeteria, one of them told Dani what had happened. Shocked, but refusing to believe it, Dani confronted Oliver when he showed up a few minutes later, and, when he admitted it, loudly dumped him in front of the entire crowd.

As she sat on the sand with Maddie, Rachel smiled in pained satisfaction, remembering how Oliver's reaction to Dani's loss confounded everyone's expectations. 

He surprised his parents by openly admitting what he had done to deserve what he got. He surprised the cheerleaders by not wanting anything to do with them, or any other girls, for that matter. He didn't grovel, but did ask Dani's best friend to deliver an honest apology, then waited two weeks in agony before trying to speak to her. She listened to what he had to say, but made it very clear that he had betrayed her, and that was something her self-respect forbade her to forgive. He surprised Jesse and Rachel by accepting what Dani said with an almost zen calm.

But they could see a change in him. He spent more time studying. His voice became softer. He added long-distance running to his regimen, even rising at dawn on the weekend to make time for it. Dani noticed the change as well. When they saw each other in the halls, or out on the track during workouts, he acknowledged her with a faint nod of acceptance and respect, which she returned. Oliver also attended her track meets when he could, going to great lengths not to make his presence known, but that plan failed when one of her team mates saw him in the stands, trying to blend in with the crowd. That same team mate approached Oliver and let him know he was busted, but also said Dani seemed to appreciate his support

"Do monks ever play baseball?" Oliver asked his father once. Jesse said he didn't know, and when he told Rachel that night she giggled in relief, because her son seemed happier than he had ever been.

"I'm going into the city to see Dani tomorrow," Maddie said, then laughed. "She kind of texted me out of the blue a couple days ago and asked how Oliver was."

"I'm glad." Rachel looked dreamily out at the water. Maybe there was hope for them after all.

Maddie wore her hurt more than Oliver did, and Rachel could see residual sadness in her eyes. She thought for a moment, remembering something, then smiled and said,

"I loved someone before your father." She had never told her children about her love affair with Finn before. True, they had seen the picture hanging on the wall of her and Finn in the finale at Nationals (Jesse had insisted it be displayed, which touched her deeply), but all she or Jesse ever said was that Finn had been the co-captain of the team with her.

"What?" Maddie asked, curiosity all over her face. "When?"

"In high school, and into college. We almost got married. Twice."

"Why didn't you ever tell-" Maddie cut herself off when she saw the pain in her mother's face, then added, gently now: "What happened?"

"He died."

"Oh, _Mom_." Maddie pulled closer and put her arm around her mother. "It was the boy in the picture with you, wasn't it? Uncle Kurt's stepbrother, Finn…?"

"Hudson. Finn Hudson." How strange it felt to say his full name.

Her children knew Rachel had been a surrogate mother for Kurt and Blaine's daughter, Lily. And, of course, they also knew Lily was not their half-sister—the fertilized egg had been implanted.

"Yeah. Oliver and I guessed there was more to that co-captain story."

Rachel tried to smile, remembering how they made love in the hotel that night after that performance, and how the world seemed within their grasp, then.

"Your father was there that day too, you know. He was coaching our cross-town rivals." She giggled. "He lost his job when we took the title."

"Did he and Finn know each other?"

"Oh yes. But they weren't friends."

"So they were _rivals_!" Maddie crowed. "Over you! Tell me more!"

Rachel blushed, and looked back out to sea.

"They were very alike in some ways. Your father always says Finn had superb taste in women." Maddie laughed. "Both had tremendous talent. But, unlike your father, Finn was crippled with self-doubt over it. But he never doubted me. And when I left for New York, he stayed in Lima trying to come to terms with his dreams. He finally found the answer in teaching music." She was crying now, because it still hurt to think about it, all these years later. "But we never stopped loving each other. I found out, years after his death, that he had planned on coming to New York for graduate school, to be with me."

Rachel wiped the tears away.

"The most important thing Finn and your dad had in common was, they took the deepest joy in making music with me. I've never felt happier in my life than when I was making art with them. That's why, when your dad and I reconnected, he was the only human being left on this planet that could heal my broken heart."

"He adores you, Mom." Maddie said. "All our friends are jealous of Oliver and me for having parents so devoted to each other. It's ridiculous."

Rachel smiled again.

"One Christmas, when we were still in high school, Finn gave me a present. It was a star, named after him."

"After him?" Maddie snorted.

"I had a similar reaction. But he said he couldn't name it after me because a star with that name already existed, only here on earth."

"Oh my God," Maddie took in a breath.

Rachel chuckled. "Yeah. I sometime wonder what I did to deserve the love I have been blessed to receive." Then she continued," Finn said if I was ever sad or lonely, all I had to do was look up in the sky and he would be there, watching over me."

"Jesus, Mom, you're making me cry, now."

Rachel gently wiped tears from her daughter's eyes, as she had done so often before.

"I have to think Finn is still watching over me, and my family as well. So I want to show you where that star is—it'll be out tonight—so you can look for it when you feel sad or lonely, too."

Maddie hugged her mother, and allowed herself to sob over her loss, because she knew her mom would make her feel better, and so would Finn Hudson, up there, somewhere.

Rachel hugged her daughter closely, and gazed out to sea again. She felt a great relief, telling Maddie about Finn, and looked forward to telling Oliver as well. And she marveled at how prescient Finn's gift had been.

And then it struck her. When Finn had told her about the star, she had looked it up. It was twenty-five light years from Earth. That meant the light from the star they would see tonight had started travelling towards Earth around the time Finn had told her he loved her for the very first time.

That made it their light. And from now on, it would always be their light. Forever.

Rachel stirred on the blanket.

"I was going to cook tonight, but Oliver and your dad are eating dinner in the city after the game. How does Chinese takeout sound instead?"

And her daughter, who now knew she was the beneficiary of the love of someone she had never met, clapped her hands in delight.

"You read my mind, Mom," she said.


End file.
